and then some
(breathing, believing)
into a rising sun,

until your lungs
beg for more
(breath, miles),

until the pounding
pavement groans
and smiles.

run up that hill
so you can fly
back down,

crown yourself in mesquite
and calling quail,
hail that taxi of a sun.

run one.
walk one.
sprint one.

(and a two and a three
and a four,
and a five);

come alive as the day
breaks and your heart
aches for something more.

climb the stairs,
hum a prayer.
there’s a whole new day in store.




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Where We Live

we’ve got our share of glass

We’ve cast the first.
We’ve been the last
one standing in a
pebbled storm.

We’ve swarmed
the castle. We’ve bled,
and mourned; lost
and won.

drop our stones
and cobble our way


It’s Quadrille Monday over at dVerse today, and I’m hosting. Come play! 


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The Quiet One in the Corner Poem

She hides her eyes
behind a stained glass moon;

a shadow moving softly
in a storm.

twiglets #78.

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sometimes they spark
if you hit them just right,
let them bump and grind,
find their way along felt.

we talk and chalk
a few things up
to strong drinks
and weakness,

the way the tables
have turned, the way
we’ve learned each other’s
English, angles, calls.

i tuck the one
ball in to a pocket,
a flash of color
in all this dark.

the black one’s got
an infinity sign side
-ways, and a way of
rolling on ’til the end,

……and you, my friend
……………are the shark.


Prompted by Poetic Asides

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Grad(u)ations of Color, Light


We are still
for some diploma
-cy, some
salutatorian sunrise
promise. Hold this crimson
close, that one in a vermillion
horizon to heart; start
asking all the right questions:
Can I pocket this praise?
Can I fill this page with sunbeams?
Shall we dance on this one sky-scrim stage?


Prompted by Poetic Asides

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Pocket Storms

I have decided
……………(she thunders)
that these last cold drops
are mine,
for a sunny day when
arched and angry eyebrows
know the sky shines quite too bright
and I need just one little plop of
to make me feel whole


Kim is promptin’ our Quadrille Monday today over at dVerse. Come play! 





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Profile of a Serial Killer

She gets her kix
……..(turns trix)
down on Route 66;
off the low-lying fruit,
loops her fingers through
their hair
and stares into their
……(life flashes before)
eyes before surprising
them with the flash
of her 38 special
(k, Cap’n)
har(d) vest

Total calm.
(Cheerio, old chap.)

Lowers her arms.
Saves their teeth
as lucky


A second offering for today’s dVerse Poetics. Watch out. Prompt is addicting. 



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