Is this a dream
there is no air
moving freely
way down here
way down here
What is this puddle at my feet
when sun is shining bright
where blueness fills the sky I see
but raining fills the night
Oh to feel the freshest breeze
fill my lungs and sweep my hair
stifling in my flesh bound jail
hormones bouncing everywhere
I must climb out, my skin may burst
someone find my fan
these windows will not budge for me
get Harold and His Purple Crayon
Patricia Spreng
This week, One Stop Poetry showcases the work and insights of Scott Wyden, a portrait and travel photographer from New Jersey specializing in landscape and commercial/fashion work. Stop by One Stop Poetry to enjoy other wonderful works.
This shot reminded me of the beloved children’s book Harold and the Purple Crayon by Crockett Johnson. All of Johnson's text and artwork is © by the Estate of Ruth Krauss.
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| Harold is a little boy who goes for a walk with his purple crayon drawing whatever he needs for his adventure, or to escape peril. He draws a picnic for a snack, pies for dessert, a large city of windows, a policeman to help him find his way home, and a hot air balloon and finally he draws his bed and his bedroom window around the moon, so he can go to sleep. |
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| 1955 |
