Scribbling in the Margins of a Day Already Done

{a Golden Shovel poem}


The sun has risen once again, and I
am full of spin and the too-tried must
-y scent of syllables with not enough to say.

Today, there’s nothing like the quiet I’m
keeping, held here fast by the dangerous damn
-ing dawn of the torn, the wicked worn, and tired.



For Mish’s awesome “last lines” prompt at dVerse, a Golden Shovel poem using The Cruel Sea by Nicolas Monsarrat (1951). The book’s last line reads: “I must say I’m damn tired.”  I have not read the book; I bought it for its beautiful old turquoise cover, to eventually smudge up with erasure poems.






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murmur stone



A second Quadrille offering, created at magnetic poetry

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daisy roar

she boasts a mane, after
all, the right to call
sun to center. white
-petalled promises with up
-roarious squalls of lovesme,
lovesmenot. we’ve got
her in our fists, given her
too much power. spent
hours hoping over flowered
phrase, faces sky raised,
praying to soar.


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



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secret poetry


magnetic poetry

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moon bare and blue

magnetic poetry 

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groovy mystery {no rules cool}



magnetic poetry 

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sweet spirit shine

magnetic poetry 


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