Postcard Poems

In August I played along with a group of 3 or 4 hundred other poets who agreed to write a fresh poem every day, and mail it out on a postcard to a stranger someplace in the world. 31 Days of poems. The idea is to write it off the cuff onto the card and send it off raw. Well, my handwriting is so terrible I have to type mine and then maybe polish these little stones just a tad. I’m up to 36 now or so. I can’t stop. This is todays. It’s going to someone in Florida:

The Taste of Rain


In light before color


A shadowed world


In the moving air


into green leaf


a shimmer of dawn

off the hummingbird’s back


Pulling at the frayed

thread of dreams


the taste of rain settles

on the cat’s tongue


now thunder


now rain




About wrensong

I am a poet who collects stones. I am a wanderer of creek beds and forests, canyons and high desert who, coming home, sometimes finds words to tell the story. I am a companion with others in the search for Deep, Wild Soul. I shape containers in time and space for others to come together to write, to tell their stories, to hold each other in the telling. I am a grandmother and the companion of a cat named Alaya. I often travel out into open country with a man who calls himself Dunewalker who has hung his hammock in my heart.
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