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24 April: A Six – Part 6: How To Break Eggs
At an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintSix Sentence Story: Part 6 How To Break Eggs From Brigid’s diary: 17 April – Pierre’s standing at the end of the worktop, watching me, stone silent … butter foaming in a pan over a barely visible flame; 3 eggs lightly beaten; stir until curds…
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24 April: Found Poetry (Remixed)
24 April page 84 Walk in clouds, in lightning, in rain, smiling at flowers and hands in trees. 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 new series of “remixed” Found Poetry sourced from the book The…
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23 April: NaPoWriMo
The Flashy Spangle Spots It’s one of those gloomy music days that I allow to pour out in spoonfuls from a small back room of fumes seeping in from a previous century, a room somewhere along the Moors where wet overcoats and woollen caps are hung to dry on hooks and whose muddy boots go…
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23 April: Found Poetry (Remixed)
23 April page 83.3 You cannot fall lower than your failures, or fly higher than your hopes. Solver of riddles, look about you. 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 new series of “remixed” Found Poetry…
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22 April: NaPoWriMo (a haibun)
It’s lazy-hot for mid-May. A few days before she finishes 6th grade, and she can hear her mother talking, voices slipping in and out of her open bedroom window, “somethingsomethingsometimes she makes my flesh crawl,” so she knows what she’s telling the neighbour. She swings her feet off the bed, she’s wearing white cotton socks…
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22 April: Found Poetry (Remixed)
22 April page 83.2 Your hours are wings, the wind and sun tear at skin, it’s a free song from dawn to dawn. 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 new series of “remixed” Found Poetry…
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21 April: NaPoWriMo
A Stark Hand I am in the strange hands of wind that reach the cliffs and pebble beach. I have come here to hear the voice of time’s sentinel, its sun-washed ancient secrets. Tell me of your lost lore, what guards your stark hand so well. I turn my face to the sky where by…
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21 April: Found Poetry (Remixed)
21 April page 81 Sap is not in furrowed bark, nor wing, nor claw, bloom or flock. You are not the veil in a mirror. You are the mirror. 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…
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20 April: NaPoWriMo
A (Prose) Poem Starting with a Line from Armageddon by T. Silverman Every time I see you, I ask if Bruce Willis is dead. For months, the days repeated and the windows were blank with winter, and then it was April – an eclipse, red-tint full moon from Sahara dust, and a devil-horned asteroid, and…
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20 April: Found Poetry (Remixed)
20 April page 80.4-5 Rise dawn from the east. Lean from windows at sunrise. Spring is leaping into summer heat. 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 new series of “remixed” Found Poetry sourced from the…
It's Still Life 