Meditation
the colors of life
January skies turn
to a Moleskine slate gray
Snow will cover
the rural land this day.
Born on the 4th
and dressed in yellow.
A pink snow suit
to keep warm and Melo.
Green Christmas trees
on their side of the mountain.
Scarlet Red homes
the place means a beautiful fountain.
Olive green canvas
covers the old military truck.
Many moons will pass
before 88's lady luck.
Myrtle green Moleskine notebooks
for UNT classes.
The violet sketchbook
stored away, time advances.
Now, days are captured in
a Moleskine cadmium orange journal.
Celebrating grandkids
and all things maternal.
After the rain falls,
a rainbow appears.
A Smile, a cheer
and many years.
Where, oh where
the rainbow ends.
A pot of gold
awaits my friends.
About the Creator
Babs Iverson
Barbara J Iversen, also known as Babs Iverson, lives in Texas and loves her grandkids to the moon and back. After writing one story, she found that writing has many benefits especially during a pandemic and a Texas-size Arctic Blast.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
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Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Expert insights and opinions
Arguments were carefully researched and presented
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme
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More stories from Babs Iverson and writers in Poets and other communities.
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtisa day ago in Humans
Comments (6)
Follow up: Babs, I just read your interview and I wanted to know if you'd be interested in being on the podcast. ☺️ I also reside in North Texas!
This is sweet and well done ❤️
Wow, I really loved what you did with this! I loved the colors and the personal touches and the overall happy feeling. Great work, Babs :)
Aw, happy goosebumps at the end. :) This poem is so heartful and hopeful, like a warm hug.
Awww this was such a sweet poem!
Wow. This is fabulous. Well done.