If a Tree Falls

….

I am weary
of the sound of my own
voice, my choice of tone,
and pluck of phrase.

There is no song
left here, only the long
-ing of an inkless heart,
the inkling of a long
road start, dusty and dry
of word and whim.

Are these the desert days?
………….Okay.
I wait for manna,
hold my tongue un
-lashed and waiting
for sweetness, the
completeness of something
more than dusty keys and
wordless breeze
through uncut
pages.

 

…..
Written for dVerse.

 

 

 

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Contact, High



There’s a man in the corner who says
I should
…….Listen:
these trees have something to say; they
collaborate with clouds. He’s loud, but
I listen with care, anyway, because this
world is spinning too fast for my taste,
a haste that concerns me deep. I’ve
grown tired of counting sheep and losing
sleep over pilfered things. Let’s chat
about community, and laughter and
kindness. Let’s smash decades of time
into a state of contentment, sans strife.

This is the kind of compromising
that finally makes sense:
I serve him soup,
he gives me life.

Wordled.

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Granite Intrusion


….

It gives the illusion
of strength, of
solid rock g(r)asping
at azure sky.

It holds the secrets
of the clouds,
the proud bright shine
of standing.

To climb
is to admit
there just might be
something bigger than you.

To simply
…….sit
and listen
is to know it’s true.

 


Prompted by Hannah’s awesome thoughts over at Toads.

 

 

 

 

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Steeple Sign

….

 

Drive her past the church,
and she just might
confess all, the small
things she hid all these
years, and the big white
one she wore on her
sleeve.

She’ll take the ashes
with a swelling throat,
a critical narrowing of her
brow and soul, cry
hoarsely toward all
things pointed sky
-ward.

She’s addicted
to the drooling sensation
of absolute bliss;
knows she wears a collar of
greater severity than
his.

Prompted by an awesome word list from my Shawna.

 

 

 

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biopsy

…..

they scooped out a spot
high on my thigh that used to be
shaped like a
heart,

and i know it’s all going to come
back clean because nothing
ever amounts to anything
but $50 copays
and our share of the bill,

but i miss it,
that little tiny heart
I found just a few months ago
on my own
thigh.

 

….

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Crimson Blur, and Gray

My lashes and lips
are petals fringing my
heart-vase face.

Do you like
my jaunty flow
-er antennae hat?
Imagine that,
a window looking
out over all this
wispy nothing
-ness.

Have you any
music? Oh,
let’s dance.

 


Prompted by Shawna‘s link to a cool visual piece.

 

 

 

 

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The Inevitable Failings of Falling



Gravity.
Oh, you fickle, fragile law
-abiding citizen, you. Consider
stars, rocks, rain –
all things bright and right
and sane, each and every much
……..(all)
things teetering on crum
-bled edge. Consider
the ledge, the decision
to stay and fight, the
long and quiet flight with
folded wings. Hold all things
loose and free and fine,
knowing some will stray
and others,
shine.

 

….
Prompted by Poetic Asides.

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