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16 May: Introspection
INTROSPECTION I am children gone to sleepI am life that pays foreverI am wisdom of the deadI am dust of lives spokenI am the rustling of leavesI am the even pull of wingsI am the chill of sunsetI am sunlight on gravestonesI am everlasting loveI am calm that some craveI am meadows and beesI am…
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15 May: Dryad
Dryad in falling green forestsin mysteries of chiseled mistyou’re a leafy nymph, a dynasty within stars,proclaimed as Young One you played in sunand joyous grass firm faith in this place of treeseternity of wind, and propheciesof green shadow shapes. Written for my friend De’s dVerse #201 Quadrille (44 words sans title, including the word “place”)Some artwork is…
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14 May: A Downward Song
A Downward Song The downward wing of a dove,strange but not so strange what brings you here. Whose voice is sweetas rose and myrtle, andwhose spirit stills a forest. Are you to be gone from us,tender dove, into those silent ways. Of leaf on leaf, bright rain of nightto possess your gentle breath. May your…
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14 May: A Six – Part 9: Before When
At an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintSix Sentence Story: Part #9 Before When “I have no idea what you’re talking about most of the time, Brigid,” says Pierre. We’re sitting on the floor, our aching backs resting against the wall, knees disengaged and unlocked, muscles stretched, and so I empty the…
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13 May: Every Journey Is a Story
Every Journey Is a Story Every journey is a story,and I say, You’re those fieldsof yellow mustard blossoms,but no matter where we are,you always say that I’m a tree. Every time just like the last,the years blur into the present,and I say I’ve always been this age,you laugh, say I wasn’t born withall that white…
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12 May: Ritual
Ritual She tilts like a star leaning against her hip, slips into that dark galaxy void, where her eyes are gentle on her restless soul. And waves surge marble-hard, a chance to break against her thighs like flexing muscle fans. Her pulse quickens as she chants rituals in her own flickering light. I am 90%…
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12 May: To Grow A Thought
To Grow a Thought The sun shines into tucks of towels.It’s a scent of heatthat grazes the skin.The scent of sunbathers in burnt colours.Shades of cardinal-scarletstretched in lines at the white duskof morning. The air shatters with thunder.Half the sky is alivewith rain brushing clouds,while couples in lateness of lifechatter and buzzlike bees undeterred.And in…
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11 May: 1962 Cobalt Blue
Skagerrak: 1962 Cobalt Blue It was during the summer of 1962 thatmy dad painted June, July and August.Not painting the house, or bedrooms,or the kitchen that baby-puke avocadogreen to match Mum’s fridge. No. We rented a cottage that summeralong a stretch of grey flat beachthat was muffled in cool salty fogevery morning. My dad painted…
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10 May: A Lily’s Palette
A Lily’s Palette I love lilies.Mum hated them. But that’s not why I love them, although there was that contrary friction between us from time to time. I love them becausethey smell like church. Mum hated them becausethey smell like church. When Mum’s father passed away, Grandma filled the church with white lilies. The air…
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9 May: Found Poetry (Remixed)
9 May Page 95 Just a little while upon the wind shall carry me. This is the last post for the found poems based on The Prophet, Khalil Gibran. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. This is the start of…
It's Still Life 