The grounds blurs in haste
—like an arrow leaves the bow—
the plane cannot stop.
The warmth of the sun
makes the sea a lot colder
and the shore lonely.
Mountains look as small
as the hand, at hand, in hand,
and still out of reach.
The forest beckons
the song of birds and insects
wont of longing.
Everything rushes
up close and everywhere near
at the journey’s end.
Day Seven Prompt: to write a poem titled “Wish You Were Here” that takes its inspiration from the idea of a postcard. Consistent with the abbreviated format of a postcard, your poem should be short, and should play with the idea of travel, distance, or sightseeing.
I felt like a collection of haikus fit the prompt best. Short and in touch with the world. Wanting to say a lot of things but limited in your words and medium. It’s the postcard of poetry.
Flipped Serendipity 