Lake Sighed



What shall we lace
or trace
or erase
into tumbled sand?

What will we keep
burn deep
spill, steep
with trembled hands?

One desire shines on,
deep indigo true:
That I would always
know You
in all this
…………..blue.
 

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Luna, Naked

….

Imagine
if you will, her house
on that golden hill
and all those dark firs
pining for some summer
breeze. Picture those trees
humming some gospel good
news song, some hummed long
-ing of light loosed to ebony
shroud.

Give her back
her other, better half
and all the cheesy
men you’ve ever seen
in her bright sheen. Beg her
forgiveness for the
tears you’ve shed to sea
instead of sky, the where
        ……….(with all)
and how and when and
why you breathed in
salt, when clouds
made finer sheets.

Make it her own
fault she hides, dissolves
with time, wanes when
tides complain and fades
within the milky veins
of her own shallow,
swollen skin.

Begin
to hear her violent
violet roar, the stored
up rage she holds close
and closed in slatted,
starry cage.

Then,
give her some small
space to erase her
self
again.

..
Prompted by Poetic Asides.

 

 

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When all else fails



When each and always
every
-thing
hangs
in the balance
in the margins
in the mourning
in the storming,

hum her a magic
forest, a creature
of habit with
    …….(or
……………. without)
wind
words or
wings. Sing
spill swarm her
a thrive
-ing while.

Loan her a leap
of faith, a jump
for joy, a passion
for something greater
than this
wanting;

then hang your
most dog-eared,
deviled hat
on the corner
of her smile.

 

..
Wordled.

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Carmel Sunset

 photo copy 12

Spun sugar dissolves
………………………..on ocean tongue,
salt and sweet
…………both spilled
………………………………..and spun.

….

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The scent of rain


 

drizzles her loose, pours
her into the day. she’s de
-luged with earthy new
and soft-pined sway, a
sprinkle of hope made
strong. shower her in
some small, quiet song
and you’ll hold her most
vivid violet storms at bay.

 

….

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To write her heart,


grab an indigo pen,
get inky as all getout
and then start again.

to know her deep,
dig into her vein, find
her blue and steep.

to take on her ache,
palm a psalm or two
and absorb her Lake.

to scribble her song,
simply steal the breeze
and breathe along.

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this poem is all tangent, and trajectory spent

….

this poem is a fresh
burst of customary forward
sway, an exchange struck un
-iambic, a close call chain of while
and why and went. this poem is all defy
and no definition, a chronic condition
of
prefer
-ances before prose, a lost
supposing of new-
kerned song. this poem has
known things all along that it may
never tell, or spill or swell to this
quiet sky. this poem is prying and
trying and supplying oxygen, ink
and whirling ebony answers that
think they just might be all of the
above. this poem is healed and heat
-ed and held in hope,
……………………….sealed with love.

 

 

..

Prompted by Toads.

 

 

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