Beth Camp Historical Fiction

Tuesday, March 09, 2010

#205 Fluency . . .

Tell me of mermaids' tears turned to pearl,
or a grandfather's gnarled finger
pointing ways to read the sky.
Stephen Hawking, face and body frozen,
dreams a paradox of movement,
unfolding black holes, new trajectories of fluency.
Blonde dreadlocks swinging, a young singer's gritty voice
reinvents Joplin, her stubby fingers hover over strings,
the very lightness of being.
That was yesterday.

This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is simply fluency.

3 comments:

  1. oh this is just a sigh, a sinking down and saying yes :)
    I hope stroke recovery is progressing.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Once again a truly beautiful poem, can't wait for your next one!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Insightful and elegant.

    ReplyDelete