Etched in my mind

my memory,

my vision of desire. . .

a hoop atop a tiny wand

billows bubbles into being. . .

irridescent rainbow swirls

play upon

their wobbly floating

shimmying convexity,

subtle, see-through spheres,

delighting children, dogs,

and other slyly peeking onlookers

delighted by

the fleeting, brilliant baubles,

even as they pass away,

at a clap, a finger poke,

the prick of a pin,

or a sudden breath of wind,

or maybe just expire,

exploding gently into nothingness

plus perhaps a teeny drop or two
jumping up before they plummet

no longer sudsy,

but to my eye
and sometimes touch,
as it moves down,

small but quite indubitable

a little spritz of wet.

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2 Responses to PENCIL POEM

  1. this really captures the delicateness of blowing bubbles x x x

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