Friday Poetry Prompt

Good morning!

It snowed overnight and is snowing now 🙂  a few inches of accumulation.

Your prompt this morning is NOT snow (it almost was though, since that is all I could see while I was driving)

The poetry prompt for today is PICTURE or PHOTOGRAPH. You could write a poem about a picture that you have, a photograph you took (or someone else took) or a picture in a magazine that has stayed with you.

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Here’s my poem about a photograph that my best friend took years ago.

Subject To Change

You pictured
my sadness
in
your kitchen 
in
black & white

Faded fearful
face
Even though
the
white balance
is off
you think
I'm
glowing.


cropped-valeri-b-w.jpg



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"Subject to Change" is in my poetry book ...details... which is available as an e-book or 
print book :)

http://www.amazon.com/details-Valeri-Beers-ebook/dp/B00NC90K24/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1410876158&sr=1-1&keywords=valeri+beers

white cover-225x300

October poems

Through the month of October, I will be posting Halloween poems, “scary” poems and Fall poems. Here’s a poem called October Road that’s in my poetry book …details… on Amazon as an e-book or a print book

http://www.amazon.com/details-Valeri-Beers-ebook/dp/B00NC90K24/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1410876158&sr=1-1&keywords=valeri+beers

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October Road

the trees
are
rusting & dying

the air
is
losing its
heat
&
freezing
to my
windshield.

scrapescrapescrapescrapescrapescrape
scrapescrapescrapescrapescrapescrape

ugh.

Flying
down the road
with
Gordon,
I wonder
if
he is going
further
than 
she
allows

a review of …details… from Frank Esposito at Poetry Pasta

Valeri Beers has a unique talent for capturing life. But what is most wonderful in her writing is her ability to take us effortlessly along into her journey. Like Alice, these poems etched by Valeri, bring us wondrously through her own glass into an experience that is totally unexpected.
  We see what she feels, what she holds dear, what she calls us to hear, to the moment it happens. She is not shy in her writing only sparse, her poems inviting us into a space never cluttered, always generous, so we have room to fill in the edges with our own fears and desires. She is not hesitant to share the shocks and whispers, cries and longings of her own humanity. Soon we find ourselves like a bird perched on a branch looking into a garden, pondering, bobbing our heads, at what oddly different beings are like, and thinking now I understand.
  Sometimes a steadfast fist, other times a slacking wrist, her prose rallies us almost magically into insights and epiphanies. We become like her, watchers through a screen door.