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15 March 2019 – American Sentence
I’m up for a bit of turmoil, like feeding paper to a pen Poetic Form: Allen Ginsberg’s “American Sentence” 17-syllables
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for Red Wolf Poems #427
Too Easy, Far Gone Do you remember when we were breezy? We laughed like birdsong. Adieu, you said, like wind that slips through windows. Where is your breeze now? Too easy, far gone. Do you remember when we were harmony? A two-part chorus. Cold burns my ears. You still burn my heart. Do you remember…
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Quadrille 75 and Twiglet 117
Draining Dark I recall a broad moon spiked high on treetop forks, a weave of breezes moving the day’s heat in chattering stops. Moon shadows soaking leaves and roots, and all winter we waited for its radiant silk, a milky moon that drained dark from night. For dVerse’s Quadrille #75, include the word…
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Twiglet #113 Constraints
Playing with Twiglet #113, the phrase “a pinch of fog”. Same Thing Four Ways A man’s eyeing my garbage bins, Gnats heavy around his head. He’s thinner than a pinch of fog. I’m trying not to be annoyed. I’m trying not to be annoyed. A man’s eyeing my garbage bins, He’s thinner than a pinch…
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Quadrille #73
A Gathered Net And what if my brown-eyed wishes gathered into a fisherman’s net, into oil and greased twine and knot, and soused silver-finned fish big as a whitened loaf. Would all my wishes come home to roost, if my wishes were kisses, would I be loved. dVerse Quadrille #73
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for Twiglet #112
A House of Sticks and Straw There’s a place in my head where I sing to myself. Talk to myself. A space for my very small voice. I’m loud and bold inside my head, but in truth I’m a half empty cup pretending that I’m half full. And, carrying a tune is no small thing.…
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for Twiglet #111
To Walk in My Shoes I keep my shoes behind the door. Toes pointed toward the wall. Neat. Tidy. Aligned. I once saw a grey rabbit while wearing those shoes. I saw sunlight on granite, and made peace with God. Written for Twiglet #111 “Behind the door”
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for dVerse Quadrille #72
A Fall Skyward It is blowing out there in that field where rapeseed grew. The old oak laboured and fell, roots skyward. It snapped through icy power lines, and splashed like a whale on to the rain-steeped fallow soil. Today was hijacked by a weathercock spinning wild. dVerse Quadrille #72: Steep
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for Twiglet #110
A Conversation with a Crow My arms that lack your feathers, to my sides held firm. My dreams that rustle in the woods, kiss the darkside of the moon. For Twiglet #110 Photo by Amarnath Tade on Unsplash
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for dVerse and Sunday Whirl
Alone with Trees Walk. I walk with my thoughts, wild. Wild as wind, pebble-sharp. Chipped. And I think, Repent. Repent. I drink in loneliness of air, and wonder how I’ve come to love despair This week’s Sunday Whirl #387 words are: walk, knees, despair, world, love, pebbles, wild, air, lonely, calls, trees, repenting…
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