Category: Poetic Bloomings
-
A Diminished Hexaverse for Poetic Bloomings
Beyond Rust and Red My pen grows silent as a silhouette. I write of life, write with dues of truth’s bones. Beyond rust and red. My first poem was red like that. An untidy dark appetite. Like father’s final words, gone unheard. He slept, We slept. Silence. Poet form: “Diminished Hexaverse” — A…
-
A Bit of Sriracha Red
A Bit of Sriracha Red I. My strongest memory from kindergarten is not what I learned, although I must’ve learned something, but rather it’s the iron grills in the wooden floors that blew hot air from the belly of that hell-shackled furnace hidden in the school basement. I’d stand there on the iron grill,…
-
Poetic Bloomings: Playing Favourites
Lost in Paradise Like a parched traveller who comes out of the deep dust — you laughed like bells ringing, despite this bloody journey. And I am an infernal silence. Jaw. Set. Steel. “Let’s go this way,” you say, “an adventure at every corner.” But there is just ever more and ever more distance. No…
-
Three More Ryūka Poems
Three Variations on a Ryūka I. I made wishes on mindless stars The full moon pulling song from me But words died in my throat that day My face was stained with tears II. A robin’s singing to me Such a sturdy song A simple summer memory A sharp and broken tone III. The sun…
-
Driving Inspiration with Poetic Bloomings
Drive On Drive On A drive can empty my clapboard thoughts, tumbling lines when I drift and drown. I have my pencil. Paper. Always here. You drive, and I’m your passenger. Drive on, drive on, hear those tyres, so lost in their hum, they speak, associative preening, it seems to me, and I’m addicted to…
-
Poetic Bloomings – Form: “Boketto” as a Senryu
Drinking Coffee as the Big Tent Goes Up I’m in vertigo — falling, Meditating on bubbles, A swallow of embossed night. Foam, right across An expanse, pretty As silk cheer and wakefulness. Calliopes and coffee, Hold that thought. written for Poetic Bloomings, Poetry Form: Boketto, which consists of two stanzas, One of five…
-
Poetic Bloomings Does Mothers
The Difficulties of Dogwoods and Lilacs There was this worry, that we’d wear out her name. Mum! Mum! The way you’d wear out your Sunday best shoes if you wore them on Tuesdays or Thursdays. The years have carved us into a difficult relationship, but I have learned a lot from my mother – so…
It's Still Life 