My poem “The Flicker” is live at Flying Island Literary Journal. I am grateful to editor Mary M. Brown for accepting this piece.
O at the Edges
Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
My poem “The Flicker” is live at Flying Island Literary Journal. I am grateful to editor Mary M. Brown for accepting this piece.
O at the Edges 
Congratulations, Robert!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks very much, Andrew!
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Well deserved selection. Congrats, Bob.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, Ken. It’s always gratifying to have something accepted.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Congrats, Robert. Much luck extended in future endeavors too.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thank you. They come, they go…
LikeLiked by 2 people
Cool!
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thanks, Leslie. It’s always fun!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Congratulations (again!)
I’m surely not getting the full scene that triggered this one, but this tugs at both mind and heart. I’m struck most by “offer memory … wanted to pocket that blur … reclaiming shape, form …” And the blue exiting in closing line … hue or emotion?
LikeLiked by 1 person
A memory of the day my father died, of driving through thick fog, feeling both numb and relieved (guiltily), wishing I could have done more, said more.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, the guiltiness of relief when dying is over is something I did not anticipate, nor know how to dissipate … and I cannot nudge the one gone to assure me he’s grateful I let him go in relative silence …
LikeLiked by 1 person
In my dad’s case, I know he was ready to move on, but still felt guilt. Ah, we’re such simple/complicated creatures!
LikeLiked by 1 person