she’s channeling the dead
(stars)
again, a largess undertaking
since they rarely shine back.
And no matter how full
(fool)
she gets, half
-baked sugar cookie or ivory
ring shine, she’s living
l a r g e
and feelin’
just fine.
::
Written for Poetic Asides.
(an aubade)
::
we oh
-bayed
the sun, rose
to his thorny
shine.
even though this day’s got teeth.
even though the moon had pull.
even though all things flew south.
we looked him straight
in his pretty, blingy mouth
and tried to make sense
of all this bright babel,
the rabble-roar of want
,
the haunt
and hue and cry of day.
::
Written for Poetic Asides.
– an aubade
::
mirror, mirror
on (and off) the wall;
so we say to seek
our fairest days
,
find ways to catch
glimpses of our
eyes in stormy skies,
the face we look
(once)
upon.
Snow White
got it right:
the apple’s poison;
so’s the dawn.
::
Merril’s got a great Quadrille for us over at dVerse. Come play!
see, what happened
was that she walked outside
and breathed the blue sky
and saw the sun’s smile and
breathed and believed
and turned her happen
-stance into a happy
d
a
n
c
e.
::
Written for Poetic Asides.
fancies herself
a flower
in a field of star
-seeds,
(growing)
glowing
from the soil of sky.
::
it’s begun.
the intricate weave
of lines defined by
strength,
and shine.
i watch her knit
her home –
a lair
a net
a perfect lattice
-work of art.
alone in my own
staggered start,
i wish i had
but half her focus
her tensile power
her sunlit gossamer beauty.
Kim’s got a great prompt over at dverse. Come play!
The birds seem to know
today’s got teeth. They caw
and cry to a waking
sky.
Strangled sigh.
Unfeathered hope.
Slight scorch of sun.
Meanwhile,
the moon
smiles on.
::
Poetic Asides Wednesdays
::
A spring breeze stirs
and these desert blooms
nod their glee.
::
Written for Misky’s Twigs.
There’s an old man
on the corner of North
and True who says
he’ll show me
the way
,
but his compass rose
blooms at the bottom
of a bottle
,
so I think I’ll stick
with this molasses sky
and a map
-led moon.
::
It’s Quadrille Monday over at dVerse, and I’m hosting! Come play!
this poem is all a
-flutter, a-mutter
-ment of swallowed moon
and muddled sun.
she’s one (i am
-bic) foot in, three
(blank) sheets
to the wind
and counting.
she’s a fountain of be
-wild
-erment, a copper sun
rise penny spent
on dandelion wishes
with fluff-fine handles.
{bring candles.}
she’s throwing a surprise
party of balloons, baboons
and cheese on rye. with cake.
she’ll take you somewhere
stunned and startled
dashed and dartled
stirred and shaken
(this end)
up.
she’ll fill your cup with rum
-bled phrase, a haze of days
astonished. the amaze of star
-stung sky. a hula hoop of moon.
a swoon of time.
the conga line
forms to the left, bereft of all
but glee. she’s leading
(the fray)
the way with a sigh that says
follow me.
::
In April, she poems. This one is probably the last.
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