pen, {de:constructed}

you try to tell yourself the things you try to tell yourself
to make yourself forget…
– Counting Crows

 


i.
-sieve.
it’s a sieve. it leaves
behind the ashes and
brings the fire. it stills;
it st(r)ains.

ii.
sword.
it’s a sword. it’s an s
word you can’t say out
loud, but can slash to
page. it can

fight.

iii.
smudge
yourself
sane.

iv.
it’s mightier.
it’s mighty her.

v.
hold a quill
(unstill)
and breathe the sky,
and you can fly.

vi.
ink.
(s)ink.
(bl)ink.
(th)ink.
(dr)ink
(in your own sweet song).

 vii.
a pen has been
at every declaration,
independence
or otherwise.

viii.
even
(the odd-ities of)
mine.

ix.
just ask that moon, who
marks my words indelible,
turns them to cold stone.
she knows things. she sings.

x.
marks the spot.
sign
(sigh)
right here on this
dotted
(knotted)
line.

xi.
all business.
all be is ’ness.
all be you, silliness.
all be you, sigh ness.

xii.
O, pen.
we who wield
have a penchant for these:
craving
chasing
{embracing}
killing
trees.

……………………….xiii.
……………………….once upon a tum
……………………….-bled time, a girl swirled her
……………………….self in indigo, and (un)wound
……………………….her way back to the
……………………………………………………sun.

 

..

.{After Wallace Stevens
KILLER prompt over at dVerse today, ala Bjorn. Come play! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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mushroom faerie

screenshot-2016-09-28-17-25-47

 

play magnetic poetry here

 

 

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{Of words, and eggs}

screenshot-2016-09-27-11-04-27Photo by Emily Blincoe

 

 

Perhaps they
(the words, the eggs)
crave
……..(kingdom, phylum, class,)
order
in some fiber
of their being:
shell,
albumin,
yolk.

Or maybe they
(these words, those eggs)
enjoy
the way we like them scram
-bled to center,
spilled
…………v i s c o u s
and
vicious
across the pa-(n)-(g)(e).

Do they feel
(free, range)

b r o k e n,

…..or just

……………o p e n ?

Released from shell
and set to tell
the g.u.t.s of the story,
the messy-sun-yell
-ow-core,
the stored up swollen
(howl)
now?

Do they
(the eggs?)
(the words?)
stretch absurdly on their own,
plan a rebel riot rave
to save their own delicate
skin?

Ohm…let
us meditate on this:

the twisted sister bliss
of smearing them as we
(sneeze)
please,
and leaving
one
great
big
mess.

 

..
Written for Grace’s Poetics prompt over at dVerse

 

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Shhhhhh…

I’m writing. I’m fighting.
I’m flighting my fancy
out into the sky: a
swirled-up mess of
strange. I’m (un)boxing
my shadows, inviting
them to play. I’ll say what
I mean and (not) mean
what I s(l)ay. I’ll stay.
But only when fear
b   l   o   w  s      away.

 

 

..
A fourth offering for the Q44 over at dVerse. Come play! 

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Politicked off

{a pity party} 

 

..

There’s no debating:
just a bunch of persuading,
degrading
berating
lie-trading
evading
and unbraiding of truth.

They’re casting stones
from golden thrones
and I just find it all too
absurd.

I’ll be casting my
cares on Him, instead.

And voting
for the
third.

 

..

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I Aim, too, please.

..

Brush up
on your smile
and stay awhile.

Today, we’ve just
gotta flossum
and jet
some.

 

..

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i cloud go on.

i am cirrus
-ly fluffy and ready to
alto my nimbo way
past this stratus
-fear.

 

..

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