An imaginary place in thin, dry air between the mountains and the dusty plains
Hope is packing up
our privilege and masks
and bicycles and hiking boots
and driving west
to explore the future.
It is trekking higher in thin air,
trusting our hearts and lungs,
daring to imagine a bright new chapter
that begins around the next bend
in the dusty trail.
Read more Raw verse.
If on some cold, dreary day a virus takes my breath away, please burn me up and say a prayer then toss my ashes in the air.
My final wish I may regret and I’ll be damned, or so you’ll fret, but when to dust I do return don’t let it be just to an urn.
Do this for me, darlin’ please, just send me off into the breeze so I can float off through the sky and come to rest when time goes by.
I want to fall to Earth again upon a madman’s head so when he rants and raves above the din he chokes on me as he breathes in.
I used to think that I wasn't gregarious
but now that everything seems so precarious
and sometimes even just downright nefarious,
and everyday pleasures grow mostly vicarious,
I see my old thinking as almost hilarious.
Stay well, my friends, and keep your distance.
B.J.
Looking for some great reads for your book club? Get tons of recommendations Monday, August 19, at Between the Covers with @boulderbooks.
Boulder County Indie Authors (including yours truly) will be there, presenting TEN (10!) of our titles. See you there!
Raise your hand if you believe a tree that falls in the forest makes noise even if no one hears it.
Now, raise your hand if you believe that writing a poem is worth the effort even if no one reads it.
The Smith Compound 