Wednesday, October 24, 2018

Launch Post- To Ashes Prompt


A Happy Little Tree

A white canvas brought before you
a moment of gratitude
with an invitation to join
heard before you
a row of paint colors
reds, yellows, blues, and greens
fly pass your view
a brush to paint
light to touch
gliding across the canvas
white becomes blue
white becomes green
blending to create
sky and ground
happy little clouds form
covering the sky as
brown scraps through the sky
raining down in patches
till they touch the ground
with rows of white
rolling down the tops
happy little trees form
covering the snow top ends
taking center stage as
a river cuts through
bushes and plants
botting along the edges
all seems perfect
yet all isn't as it seems
because while there are no mistakes
at first gleam
there will always be happy accidents.







1 comment:

  1. Query Post Make up, Blog 6

    This poem of course, made me think of Bob Ross and all his artistic happy trees.
    I thought about the way he behaves and reacts uniquely, lovingly and positively to the things around us, and that we are in fact creators of these happy little things in existence. This poem reminds me of the way he spoke throughout his instruction, the way he almost seemed to make time slow down as he spoke, made you listen, enjoy, and think.
    There are a few things that ultimately come to mind whenever I think about adapting this specific piece out into fiction. One is maybe the idea of writing a piece of fiction about happy little trees. They have conversations, learn, fall in love together. Maybe putting that positivity into nature for people would help foster a new love for it.
    A way to adapt this out into non-fiction would be to speak about maybe how trees either are or are not happy with us at this point in time, scientifically. Maybe you could write about a certain particular tree that is thriving either with or without humans. On the contrast, maybe you could speak of a tree that would be unhappy. Maybe these trees are being choked out and by ivy, and are struggling to survive. Maybe the trees are being cut down for human need.
    Just some ideas.
    Reading this poem made me feel like a happy, happy, little tree.

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