Boomerang Metaphor Poem

  I have been sick-the dreaded summer cold.  I hate getting a cold, but in summer the sauna like humidity just makes me wilt.   I over heard my daughter and her boyfriend talking.  I guess the plan is not to return next summer.  I kinda suspected this news, but hearing it induced a sense of panic.  I have been on a mission to make memories.  We went to the Southern Hotel the other day and stopped to visit shop proprietor, Laura Carsey and artist, Ingrid McEntire.

Yes, I am behind on my 100 Days of Happy challenge. I made a collage-this covers from July 8-July 16.

 I found my daughter's childhood tea set.  The colors are mismatched and resemble Fiestaware.   

Cheerful, happy memories surfaced when I found this tiny cup. July 17

Now, time for a poem-I am so behind on blogging and writing!  Summer happened-

Here are happy photos for July 18,19th and 20.  Tomorrow I will post two pics to catch-up. I am using these photos to inspire a poem.  My friend, Hannah created a new form of poetry called Boomerang Metaphors.  You can read more about it here~  Congrats, Hannah!

This poem is an apron.

This poem is a Valentine from the sea.

This poem is a small token.

This poem is a kite on a clothesline

a pocketful of posies

a pink Depression ware plate

where memories are bleached n' hung

prayers for wet kisses for my roses

for your arms to hug me

This poem is an apron.

This poem is a gift from the sea

hear the ocean's breeze sing a bewitching tale

of the sea's marriage to the coast

as the waves kiss the shore

tumbling milky glass remembers

favors of love's stormy romance 

This poem is a Valentine from the sea.

This  poem is kissed by violet leaves

 where words gather on a lazy porch swing

in timeless word-homes

as Ice tea's tears collect and puddle

watching Monarch's floral wings embrace the blue fringe of day

tiny stars collected in a Mason jar lighting my pathway to you

This poem is a small token. 

This poem is an apron worn by my grandmother-now mine.

This poem is a Valentine kissed by a salty breeze.

This poem is a small token of violet freshness tucked in a word-home.

 ©Ellen Wilson