Kestril's Rhythms and Groove

Moon Story

I told the moon my story,
knowing she'd heard a billion worse.

If the storm feels free

enough to give voice to its being,

why should my tongue be stilled?

Photo by Altınay Dinç on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for Poets and Storytellers United's Friday Writings, 13 Words on the 13th.

Blue Period

A lifetime of loving and gathering
so many brilliant and subtle hues—

yet I find my hand seeking

for Picasso blue,

reaching for the shade

to underline a year’s worth of words.

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: What's the Use of Feeling Blue? from Steven Universe

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for the Friday Writings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Color or the Absence of Color

If I stand here long enough
I might see a crocus bloom.
But I’d likely freeze to death

before that happened.
Only my bones left
when the snow has melted

to see the purple fingers
of newborn crocus
reaching for the sky.

My ribcage could be
a serviceable cathedral

for mousely vows
said under springtime moons
and earthworm princes
to find the objects of their quests.

I’m afraid I’m too selfish to share
this space my heart is used to
taking up with just any random
invertebrate or rodent.

So I’ll pull my hat down lower
to cover up the howling of the wind,

go inside where my tea waits for me,
and come back to this place
when the crocus is ready for me.