This day has a forward spilling, a way of
filling way too fast. It’s past its prime and
out of time before lines are drawn in these
hourglass sands. Hand me something full
of face, less talk and tock, less ticked at
comewhatmay. Pay it forward, sure, but
can’t we take a breath? Let’s play around
with words and dance in our PJs, stretch
enough to know our own flailed limbs. Be
-gin here, see? Come, get sprung with me.
…
…
Wielded green of balmy gust,
through heart of ice and flurry thrust,
verdant fight to gain sky’s trust.
Velvet rug for hungry feet,
peaceful wave of sharpened sea,
swords of spring held high for me.
….
..
Written for Creative Bloomings.
..
Skid row needs a jelly sandwich.
Or some motley
(this means diversified, varied,
not shabby – look it up)
list of ingredients to bake
into this side
………(of the tracks)
-walk trip. Un-clatter your
own platter, catch some
sweeter slice of crust, and trust
tomorrow’s cotton paradise corner
to take care of itself. Someday we’ll
think outside these cardboard caves,
celebrate the manna-morsels we
remembered not to save, leave be
-hind our signs and come what may.
..
.
Wordled.
..
The sky shakes open, and she tangles herself in bits
of broken, roots herself deep and embraces her other
side. She hides small things in fragile, quiet hands but
lets them bloom, if only to make room for all these way
-ward stripes. It’s late now, and she’s cold, but pull her
from her shell and perhaps she’ll tell a story for the road.
.
Written for We Write Poems.
..
It’s not a lot,
this thing I’ve got.
No plan, or plotting,
just poems plodding
across a page by tittled
phrase.
Not quite for naught,
these thoughts now caught
are whispered heart
-songs freed from cage for
whimpered, whistled, whittled
days.
..
The Sleeping Gypsy, 1897, by Henri Rousseau
…
Hakuna matata, my ebony foot.
No lion sleeps here tonight, and I
think perhaps I have played my last
song to these whirling sands. Re
-member me in bright stripes, under
a full fat moon, bow still in hand.
..
.
Written for the Mag.
….
Shall we hide them
away, these mightier things,
en garde, thrust into dark corners?
Would they shatter, really,
into a million crystal shards
if we only showed them
the light of day?
And even
if they did,
wouldn’t each
perhaps speak
a piece of the story,
reflect Your glory?
..
Check out Hannah’s awesome prompt over at Toads today. For me, watching a portion of the video called to mind sharp and powerful beauty, dangerous things hidden away.
..
…
