I've missed a few of your poems, so I'm catching up- love them all. You are so good at putting words together to tell a story! Hope you are having a great weekend- it just rained almost a whole tenth of an inch...I'm stoked!! LOL!!
Well from what I've read dismaland is not a place I'd choose to visit, although I think many have. The 'helpers' dressed in pink are asked to be grumpy with the customers and some of the side shows are a little unusual to say the least. But I guess we all like different things!
But back to your poem, I liked it ... well done again. You certainly seem to have a gift for poems and the many types and slightly different styles in how you write and approach them.
Colors and shades do fade. I like the double layers of meaning here.
=)
September 9, 2015 at 10:55 AM
Photo by Christopher Jobson for Colossal
[Image]
Picture take from Dismaland
for prompt at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads Flash 55
and sharing with Poets United
When making a pinwheel
you color and cut
choose and pick
pin it to a stick
and
blow hard and soft
thinking
you know the color of life
but colors change
and fade
pinwheels break
and
you are left
with only a stick
dreaming
of
when
there were many colors
and
all the pinwheels turned
36 Comments
Close this window Jump to comment formBut colors change and fade...
What a thoughtful verse.. indeed life is full of different colors which vary in shade and hue. Fantastic 55!
Lots of love,
Sanaa
September 5, 2015 at 5:57 PM
So fun to read aloud. Meaningful, too
September 5, 2015 at 6:56 PM
This is beautiful and sad and inspired. Lovely.
September 5, 2015 at 7:56 PM
Very true in Gail. One tries hard to maintain colors and order in one's life but it might get frustrating!
Hank
September 5, 2015 at 8:15 PM
Great work, Gail. :-)
September 5, 2015 at 10:08 PM
Oh my . . . do I ever like this one . . .
You are soooo good Gail!
September 5, 2015 at 10:16 PM
Never liked it though
When I would be
Left
Holding the stick . . .
September 5, 2015 at 10:21 PM
Such an original approach to the challenge!
September 6, 2015 at 5:19 AM
Great piece, vivid and delightful to read!
September 6, 2015 at 5:30 AM
this is soooo true, i am now in the stick, that is all that is left..
September 6, 2015 at 6:30 AM
Good morning, another one well done. You are good! Have a happy day and new week ahead
September 6, 2015 at 7:23 AM
I love one-sentence poems!
September 6, 2015 at 7:52 AM
Excellent metaphor. So many things (including us, perhaps) are carefully pinned to the stick, and then destroyed by their very purpose in being.
September 6, 2015 at 9:20 AM
So often we are left there afterwards...also in hard wind the colors often blur to grey.
September 6, 2015 at 10:38 AM
So true, but we are also left with all the wonderful memories of those colors spinning brightly in the wind!
September 6, 2015 at 10:42 AM
Damnit Gail......you made me cry again. xoxo Oma Linda
September 6, 2015 at 10:55 AM
And sometimes, even the stick rots... and we must start from scratch. Powerful.
September 6, 2015 at 10:58 AM
Left holding the stick. If ever there was a recipe for tears. This is it
Much love...
September 6, 2015 at 12:25 PM
I've missed a few of your poems, so I'm catching up- love them all. You are so good at putting words together to tell a story!
Hope you are having a great weekend- it just rained almost a whole tenth of an inch...I'm stoked!! LOL!!
September 6, 2015 at 1:42 PM
Lovely....I had not thought of pin wheels in a long, long time!
September 6, 2015 at 2:47 PM
Oh such sadness...I remember when my pinwheels broke as a child...I love how you relate this to life.
Donna@LivingFromHappiness
September 6, 2015 at 5:05 PM
Yes, indeed. I like this one a lot.
September 6, 2015 at 5:35 PM
Oh, I feel EXACTLY like that today! where did all the colors go? Loved this, Gail!
September 6, 2015 at 7:43 PM
Excellent, Gail!
September 6, 2015 at 7:46 PM
This is so much like life for all of us; spinning around madly one day, falling to bits the next.
September 6, 2015 at 10:10 PM
yes...colors do fade in life...sigh...
September 7, 2015 at 6:18 AM
The questions soar and come full circle...beautifully - like a pinwheel
September 7, 2015 at 7:28 AM
I believe the theme of dismaland is that all we are left with is holding the stick. Good take.
September 7, 2015 at 7:36 AM
sticks aren't so bad though....you can stir things up with them, bang a drum, make it a magic wand.....
September 7, 2015 at 8:18 AM
Great metaphor, and perfectly in keeping with Dismaland.
September 7, 2015 at 10:05 AM
Well from what I've read dismaland is not a place I'd choose to visit, although I think many have. The 'helpers' dressed in pink are asked to be grumpy with the customers and some of the side shows are a little unusual to say the least. But I guess we all like different things!
But back to your poem, I liked it ... well done again. You certainly seem to have a gift for poems and the many types and slightly different styles in how you write and approach them.
All the best Jan
September 7, 2015 at 12:49 PM
lovely!
your poem reminds me of the tail-end of summer, of myself making crafts with my daughter.
September 7, 2015 at 2:44 PM
Such is life ~ I love the use of pinwheel for life's lessons Gail ~
September 7, 2015 at 7:31 PM
This is beautifully written...such a simple subject, but yet the meaning goes much deeper. Your blog is lovely!
September 8, 2015 at 12:15 PM
I really liked this one, Gail! The memory of colours on turning pinwheels is often enough to sustain a gray existence...
September 9, 2015 at 1:57 AM
Colors and shades do fade. I like the double layers of meaning here.
=)
September 9, 2015 at 10:55 AM