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Twiglet #68
Untitled Who will follow their tragic songs, their footsteps on soft lawn. There in the shade, on the hill, where arrows flew and, bones lie still. There amongst our runic signs, there on Tower Hill. for Twiglets #68 “Following Footsteps”
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19.03.18 Poems for Gnomes
The Winnowed Approach of tulips. of daffodils. they compete with bare-knuckled weather. they prepare against the weight of snow, against stem-breaking frost, against long-tooth grey, and still spring promises an approach. comes, day upon day, and speaks to us in four season languages, wearing its winnowed face. written for Poems for Gnomes
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15.03.18 TLT
The Way It Was That’s her. Nearly two. Mashed peas on her chin, and hair bound in wet rags. Curls by morning. Those black and white days, safe between covers. Three Line Thursday (#TLT): “photo” three lines, max 10 words per line
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Twiglet #67
In the Rain You’re out on flattened water, fishing — rain slashing the car window in long trickles, tracing like wizard fingers, or seahorses. Rain does that. for Twiglet #67, and extracted from the American Sentence post earlier today
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Twiglet #67
Three American Sentences All About Weather I. Stood on a muddy track, umbrella in hand. A moody slash of rain. II. Saw a sculpture. Looked like wizard fingers. Or a seahorse. Rain does that. III. You’re out on flattened water. Fishing. As rain slashes at my window. written for Twiglet #67 “Slash of Rain”
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Quadrille #52
Catching Stars It’s March just beyond the edge of rain-soaked snow. Beyond the fire of northern lights and imaginary sheets of singing smoke. I watched the stars that shot sideways, plotted maps to catch their washed-out blurs. Their light is my night — a deep ripeness. for dVerse Quadrille “Fire”
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Sunday Whirl #342
All That Noise Curious disguise, this youthful mimicry. When we lost the gift of silence to stormy wind, it marred the sky like a viral draft. We watched stillness falling on all manner of stars, in a stutter, in a song, a sparkling charge. In my youth, I was hot wired to fry like desert…
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dVerse Feelings
A Second Reading When I am gone and critics give my life a second reading, will they know the right questions, so they find the kindest answers. Which parts of me will stay behind, and which parts will sweep along with the wind, with the shadows. Am I verb, or adjective. A warm glow or…
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A dVerse Haibun
Originally posted on The Journal: Mum wants to bring the garden into her apartment; wants to paint all the walls green. I love the sea but I’m sure not going to throw salt water or coral sand or haddock at the walls. I love tomato soup but the same holds true for that, too. Maybe…
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Twiglet #66
Hung fat balls from the apple tree. Incoming. An avalanche of birds. Poetic form: Ginsberg’s American Sentence, 17-syllables. written for Twiglet #66, and dVerse Open Night
It's Still Life 