Category: Poetry
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4 March 2018
Originally posted on The Journal: Home and Hearth Blood is thicker than water; I’ve never had any trouble telling them apart. Really, it’s a small thing, Dad would say with a modest … pfffft a never-you-mind about that snarling scar on his arm. I think it was the year that the Russians put the first…
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01.03.18: TLT
I drift like hard grey snow blowing up the street. Lost to cold company. written for TLT: Lost . 17-syllable American Sentence.
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Wisps for TLT
Untitled Like muslin clouds. Or ballerinas. Pirouettes turning like wheels, waxing and waning. Moonlight melting into dusk, and I stared at smouldering smoke, and candles sputtering. for 3-Line Thursday at Ink In Thirds
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Twiglet Prompts
An Invitation A Twiglet is a brief phrase meant to prompt a first impression. A response; a few lines; brevity. It’s a jump-off point for something meatier in the future. There’s no right, no wrong, and no time limit. I post a new Twiglet every Tuesday at https://thetwiglets.wordpress.com Everyone’s welcome to join in.
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for Ink In Thirds – TLT
Descent into a Very Short Story There, alone in our moonsnatch valley it’s picture-perfect, be it on canvas, where rain falls, liquid as cruel sighs. for Three Line Thursday, three lines max 10 syllables per line. The word this week is “Alone”. Image is from Unsplash by Peter Hammer.
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09.02.18
A Siege of Shadows Over my shoulder, a forever glance. I’m a long eclipse across my shadow. A millstone cloud, a blame of feelings. A shadow’s breath with happy noises. I understand randomness more than I understand myself. Gentle thief of solitude, I feel your kinship. I don’t blame your morning to night changeability. We…
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for Three Line Thursday
For Three Line Thursday: “Vinyl”. Constraint: 17 words Over-Easy I. She sways to songs, sheets of sound, pendulum swings, vinyl round, heels tap as her handbag swings. II. Saw a mummy in a foetal curl, skin like vinyl Naugahyde, the colour of my leather sofa.
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Twiglet #62
A Disquiet The air is disquiet, and I’m cut short by my own apostrophes. It’s a temper of my own making. Pages torn, words ripped, drawn, quartered and dying, and rising like saints toward heaven. My head is full of their noise. For Twiglet #62 “Air Full of Sound” Image is from Unsplash.
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Three Line Thursday #2
Unbridled We close doors against it. Wind. Barnstorming shadows of unsteady oaks. It blows by north, right through us, moans and utters, and sets bedsheets free into nature’s curl. Three Line Thursday: fly free
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for Three Line Thursday
Fall I saw it, those thunder lines on your face. Time to leave, and believe, I’d cut the chain. But I fell. Not for you but like rain. written for Three Line Thursday
It's Still Life 