Friday, April 16, 2010

On Little Feet

Death doesn't come
in an instant; rather,
it creeps in, a series
of smaller moments.

Some believe we
start to die when
we crown, before we've
inhaled more than
meconium, but I think
we start to rot when
we no longer want.

Prompt: death

I've already written several poems on death. Enough already. Let's hope tomorrow's prompt is about daffodils or some such bit of sunshine.

Peace, Linda


  1. This was powerful.

    I'm looking forward to something cheerful tomorrow.


  2. wow... creepy and scary... Good one, Linda...

  3. Sad, moving or cheerful, you write them all well.

  4. A nice poem that differentiates between physical death and the death of spirit.

    By the way, my wife (an OB nurse) once brought home a button that read: "Meconium Happens!" I still laugh about that.

  5. "...but I think
    we start to rot when
    we no longer want."

    Powerful words, Linda. Well done as always :-)

  6. Pointed and poignant, like good poetry should be.

  7. There is something about using the dark to bring truth to light that lends a reality we'd be unable to accept or face otherwise. You pulled this off expertly. Well done.

  8. new to your site~ really enjoying your poetry so far! love this one about death. it is a topic that i find myself returning to over and over again (as we all should).

    looking forward to more in the days to come! i'm also in bmore, new to blogger. find me at Press Send ( would love any feedback you have on my writing :) thanks linda!!!