Tag: Poetry
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Day 02.1 NovPAD Challenge
The Architecture of a Moment Notes: Rooted in the oldest English tradition, Anglo-Saxon accentual verse follows the rhythm of breath and heartbeat rather than syllable or rhyme, where meaning is carried by cadence, image, and pause. The Architecture of Joy Young ones wrapped in November’s breath,a rustle of coats,a symphony of zips,mittens and hats,cheeks bright…
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Day 03 NovPAD Challenge
The Architecture of a Moment Notes: Rooted in the oldest English tradition, Anglo-Saxon accentual verse follows the rhythm of breath and heartbeat rather than syllable or rhyme, where meaning is carried by cadence, image, and pause. How to Release a Song First, the slow grind of spin,black wheel, waiting world.Then fingers, surgeon-sure,lower the bridge of…
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Day 02 NovPAD Challenge
The Architecture of a Moment The Alchemy Bubble, bubble, the morning sun.Oats and blueberries, honey, salt,papa’s wooden bowlritual for a heart. A spoon once carved from oak,its circles keep the calm,anchored quietin the day’s small storm. This is quiet fun,a simple joy,to make a home,to stir a steaming bowl. Written for Writers’ Digest Poem-a-Day Challenge.…
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02.11 The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman, the Cat, and the Apple Tree of Chaos(Old Fashioned Chaos) The apple tree,drunk on starlight and spite,heaves its roots like Cetus, a sea serpent of soil— thunk against the fence,crack through the patio, its fruit rolling into the neighbour’s gardenlike tiny, rosy planetsescaping orbit. The cat(still not hers, never hers)watches from the…
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Day 01 NovPAD Challenge
The Architecture of a Moment Enter a Cloud The heartbeat of percussionin his ear, not drum,but the world’s own strumming.Thunder in the soul,pressure in the hollow bone. Then the rip and fold of wing,a seam in the sky torn wide.He, peregrine, enters cloud,becomes the storm he chased. No longer bird, but question,the wind’s own wonder…
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Day 01 NovPAD Challenge
The Architecture of a Moment In Its Quiet Occupation The window latch gives way,a tired click,and just like thatthe day begins to spill its sunlit gold across the sill,not in request,but in quiet occupation. Then the radio hums,a singer’s plea:can you read my mind?A breeze, the conspirator,stirs the embers of the beech,a rush of rebellious…
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Preface NovPAD 2025
The Architecture of a Moment Preface: On the Nature of Anglo-Saxon Accentual Verse Author’s Note It’s November once more, and that means The Writers’ Digest Poem-a-Day Challenge and Chapbook Contest has returned. I’ve taken part in this annual event since 2009 — sixteen years of daily prompts, poems, and friendships that have grown from shared…
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31.10: Of Samhain
The Return of the Wise Woman The PreparationThe world has gone thinat the edges.The air, a gossamer veil,smells of apples and smoke. A single candle is lit,a sun in a kitchen windowoverlooking the sea.It is the same flame grandmother lit,and her grandmother before her. A beacon.A welcome.A promisethat the hearth is still tended. The InvocationShe…
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30.10: dVerse Haibun
A Samhain Haibun On Samhain night she lit a single candle in the kitchen window, the way her grandmother had taught her: a flame for the ones who still wander. The air smelled of apples and smoke; the world had gone thin at the edges, and she thought she heard the old woman’s tread across…
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29.10: MicroDosing 60 µg
The Bone Orchard They don’t grow stones here in this bone orchard. They plant people. The soil is rich with silence, fed by stories. We tend the plots, not with water, but with memory. In spring, the only blossoms are the ones others bring. The only harvest is a name, whispered back by the wind.…
It's Still Life 