-
Day 1
Found in Prologue: “Flowers In The Attic” by VC Andrews. Also available on Tumblr Hope is Yellow. Like flowers. Yellow as sour gall. I hope I can write, grind the knife. I hope. for Writers’ Digest PA AprPAD Day 1: “morning” That Last Dream Before Waking behind closed eyes daybreak dreams are rising.…
-
Found Poetry Remix and AprPAD 2019
Today is Day 1 of National Poetry Month. Two poems a day is target. I am participating in my favourite form of poetry: Found Poetry. Specific form: unrestricted remix. The source material is from “Flowers In The Attic” by VC Andrews. I am also dipping in and out of Writers’ Digest PA’s AprPAD. This is…
-
For Poetic Blooming’s Adventure
IN SEARCH OF APRIL As the sun breaks the cloudy wattle it reveals the high pitched green of spring. Everywhere, its emboldened brush is gilding everything. I forgot the thunder in birdsong, like innumerable feet that trod the ground. My eyes, less than wise, to what stars write for me. written for…
-
For Wednesday’s Muse
Japanese Poetry Forms for Wednesday’s Muse #1 she is the branch furthest away from me now. just an occasional reminder, like a wind-flicker or a scent or a fold she left behind just before the trees went bare. For Wednesday Muse #1 poem form: mono no aware (mo.no-ah.way.ray) 5 lines depicting sadness at the passing of…
-
For Sunday Whirl #396
A Nightjar in the Hawthornes I’m caught in the pull of a black pepper night. In a streaked chill that stings the moon. A nightjar sings, its breast swells with a song. A remix of clouds with stars. Sing, sing me your alchemy, and then stir the night. Sing in the spirit of life. …
-
19 March 2019
Memories of a Wheel of Wind She was like that. A wheel of wind. My mother possessed the kitchen when she made bread. I watched in wonder, her softness of motion as she stood in a white floury cloud. Stretching dough. She’d slap her hands on her apron, flour dust rising like scattered smoke. Everything…
-
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
-
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…
-
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…
-
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…
It's Still Life 