R's rue

I was reading The Lost Language Of Cranes By David Leavitt  with my feet in the sun which created a rectangle of gold on the new carpet framed by little square living room window The cottages faces south and by 1pm the stone front has become quite warm after the autumn chill of last night. I must of fallen asleep, just for a moment  But as my eyes opened and head jerked back slightly the room was suddenly filled with the scent of cold cream and talcum powder. It was intense and almost overwhelming  and it was if my grandmother has just bustled past, Her big arms filled with laundry  Her face wide from smiling  A broad plain blue dress with short sleeves and an apron She’s been gone some thirty seven years now And just occasionally  I miss her so  from Going Gently https://ift.tt/2Go618z

 Jesus it's me you know Regine the girl with so many questions because  they're more fun or so it seems answers are boring or hard to accept i think i just had a revelation sometimes i don't like the answers  you give to my queries that's why i keep asking i may  be human after all from R's rue https://ift.tt/3jfulIl

 Dreaming of  A day  With pleasure of  Grocery shopping  In Trader Joe’s  Without a care in the world  from R's rue https://ift.tt/30nxrCG

Over here in Merrie Olde England, it is National Poetry Day. Why we need a single National Poetry Day has always been unclear to me because from my perspective there should be three hundred and sixty five national poetry days each year. Be glad for the poetry has no ending. I guess it's about raising the profile of poetry - putting it in the spotlight here at the beginning of October which I have always found to be one of the more fertile months for poetic expression. Leaves fall in October - at least here in the northern hemisphere they do. Days shorten. Birds fly away. Sometimes the light outside is pure gold. These things are  inspirational for poets and would-be poets alike. I will write a poem today. I have already chosen its title: "In The Time of Corona". That is a deliberate echo of "Love in The Time of Cholera" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez which I read last year.. The task may change but at the moment I want to make a poem that is set at some future t...