smashed word broken

let it go — the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise — let it go it
was sworn to
go

  • E. E. Cummings 

we smoosh them between our 
hungry fingers like chalk,
smudge them to the sky. 

you and I, 
we’ve got them right 
were we want them 
now, 
and how. 

we taste them on 
stuttered tongues
,
until that wayward golden sun 
is going 
going 
gone. 

I’m hosting the Quadrille over at dVerse this week. Come play!

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Wayward Sky

We had a deal, you 
and I. I’d just look
up, and you’d bring 
the stars. 

No matter how far 
we’ve come, I can find 
my way home by those 
light-stung shards. 

But tonight you’ve got 
something darker in mind: 

Discombobulated me, 
left behind. 

I’m late to Lisa’s Quadrille this week at dVerse.

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This is not a ceiling.



It’s a shadowstage holding up the outside-sky,
a trampoline bouncing laughter 
light, conversation 
dust. 

It’s a blank sheet waiting for my words, 
a sunshine-slatted hope. 

This smallbox universe 
of our own bright building, 
where I 
am both fan 
and sometimes-star. 

Mish has us writing object poems over at dVerse Poetics today. Come play!

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Scrabbling It In

She tastes the new year slowly
pondering clouds on tongue 
sacred slices of sky, 
tabasco-tang of sun. 
,
The world’s got a way 
of craving falling
-stars, symphony wishes. 

She swishes in a ninja star for 
good measure, a babble of brook
,
                      a dabble of moon. 

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

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Abide (an Aubade)

Crack open 
that bright blue dawn 
and watch the sun 
yawn and stretch 
again, begin to light our f(l)ight. 

We raise wings and sing, abide 
in deeper things than the morrows 
and sorrows of this place. This day, 
we find grace in the staying. 

::

it’s Quadrille Monday over at dVerse, and Lisa’s got a great word for us. come play!

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stage: left

we outta here with our pens and our plans 
and our cramped-up hands and our scrib
-bled dreams. these syllables are our last 
gasps and death-rattle rasps of lyric, lung 
and ripped-at-stanza seams. this means 

our scribbles are all scrabbled out, and 
there’s no doubt we’re through (and through) 
too tired for poem schemes. these prompts 
and circumstances, these crazy iambic dances 
and last-ditch stitches and stashes of phrase. 

for days and days and days (and daze), we’ve 
inked. we’ve thinked. we’ve blinked and blinded
ourselves and binded our shelves with craft and craze.
we’re done. it’s been fun. it’s been real and we’re real 
tired. expired, without a doubt. retired poets, out. 

::

written for poetic asides November chapbook challenge.
congrats to all who completed this always-crazy month in this weird pandemic year.

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wanting whim

this year’s gone all heavy again, lead
-bellied belligerent bossypants and

i long to tutu and tulle, rule the school 
with taffeta promises and stripey-socked 

glee. you see, we’ve got some giggles that 
need loosing. some bubbles that need 

blown to sky. some secrets that need whisp
-ered to these trees. come with me, and we’ll 

fingerprint that foolish moon, smudge the 
sun with hum and hope. i’ve got a jump 

rope and some pickup pixie stix and a way
-ward mix of angry chick music and oompah

band bluster. buster, we’ve got to go and mud
-lucious ourselves silly, build blanket forts 

and faerie lands of dandelion fluff and broken 
stars. just daisy petal ourselves away and change 

our names to Squib and Squee, and stay some 
-where where this crazy world is (once, again) ours. 

::

written for poetic asides November chapbook challenge.

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tell me again about the dragons (and the plums)

we ate them all 
(the plums, not the dragons) 
so cold, 
just waiting there in the ice 
-box. we left none for the dragons 
(so hot).

they’re left with nothing but wasted 
thought and witch
-craft and hungry tums and fiery 
hums. 

::

a quick remix for poetic asides November chapbook challenge.

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#thankfuls

we count them daily 
these gifts, these rifts that allow 
our worry to rest. we wrestle them 
into our pockets and let them over
-flow. we know they heal fear and 
draw us nearer to true: we’re blessed. 

::

written for poetic asides November chapbook challenge.

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blue friday



and what’s next is breathing
and believing the best 
and getting some rest 
and communing with sky 
and not asking why 
and holding on to Who
and breathing in Blue. 

::

written for poetic asides November chapbook challenge.

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