Month: Apr 2025
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02.04: The Old Woman Without a Cat
More About The Old Woman Without a Cat The Old Woman With No Cat and the Crow the old woman with no catsits in her wicker chair,spring sunlightwarming her bones, arranged like kindlingwaiting for warmth from a match. a crow hops across the lawn,its feathers oil-slick black,a hole in the world’s brightness, one foot, then…
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Day 3: Poem-a-Day Challenge
A Crow with a Pocketful of Stanzas (a tricube diptych) I. The Arithmetic of Yellow Sun’s shorthand—Grandma’s cakeand bee’s sigh. Dandeliontime bombstick, bloom, flee. Door left ajar—light poolsin threes—free. II. Crow’s Afternoon Tea Black beaks dipin stanzas—sweet, sharp, thief. “Honey-dust?”No—sun’s rustand grief’s leaf. They caw, flee,wingtips smudgedwith your laugh. Here are the rules of tricubes:…
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3.04: A Thursday Door
This Dijon door is kissed by Burgundy sun and winter’s spit, its oak ribs groaning secrets to the stone that cradles it like a grudging spouse. Weathered—as if time is something that happens to a thing, and not the slow feast it’s been savouring. Every crack—a sip of centuries. Every splinter—a tongue holding tales. The…
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Day 2: Poem-a-Day Challenge
Beyond All the Summers I’ve Seen It’s the start of the day,light in the thicket and the wood. There’s a mellow light, mellower than sunrise,somewhere yellower than daffodils,somewhere beyond all the summers I’ve seen. Yellow, like honey, yet somehow sweeter—sweeter than love letters yet to be sent.Where light writes the names of pardons on leaves.…
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Day 1: Poem-a-Day Challenge
The Flour and the Fleeing The clocks rang out a timeless chime,Its singing breath was summer’s rhyme It was the best of times—or so we swore,fingers licked, sticky frosted buns we stole.A hint of sugar clung to our clothes—our delicious mischief it was so. I saw it all: the flour and the fleeing.How light bends…
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2.04: Six Trifecta – The Last Day
Beyond an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintSix Sentence Story: The Final Day (Part 3) The Isle of Skye: To Write an Ending The sun frets Loch Harport with gold so flaked and sharp that I hold my breath just to see—this is Carbost, the Isle of Skye, and Talisker Distillery; we’re here…
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2.04: Six Trifecta- The Last Days
Beyond an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintSix Sentence Story: Day 16 (Part 2) Stitched Together I watch the sun rise in the rearview mirror, and there it is: Fàilte gu Alba—Welcome to Scotland—it’s not intent; it’s a thick-soled boot stomping, Here ends England, and I nudge Nick awake, “We’re in Scotland—four or so…
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1.04: Six Trifecta: The Last Days
Beyond an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintSix Sentence Story: Day 15 Part 1 – Lake Windermere: It Starts Without a Plan It begins, as many days do, without a plan—the sun rising behind the steep, sloping hills in a shade of green too lush for naming—and I stand on the dock,…
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