This Poem Is A Rumor

Written for:  The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #332

Words:  light, nothing, ditch, vine, mighty, silver, boil, lost, tell, middle, rumors, seams

This poem is a rumor,
a whisper of light
and loss traveling
up silver-seamed vines,
growing from nothing
but colored threads
with which to weave
a tale, regale idle
gossips with bare
bones. By mid-climb,
this vine is inflated.
Twists are added
that change fiber
of original rumor.
This poem begins
to boil, roil, until
only dirt remains,
sinking into a ditch,
truth never told.

About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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6 Responses to This Poem Is A Rumor

  1. hypercryptical says:

    Very good.
    Rumour is grown on the tongues of busybodies and tittle-tattlers to whom truth has no place. How they ill-serve us.
    Have a wonderful New Year.
    Anna :o]


  2. This poem is a beauty, and somewhere in there it felt true.


  3. oldegg says:

    Sadly truth has a habit of being hidden these days. When that happens we tend to lose more than written or spoken words we lose hope as well.


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