Monthly Archives: January 2018

Perhaps She is the Thumbprint of Some Wayward Queen

.. You say to talk about her in a new way and I must tell you I am exhausted. She exhausts me. My nouns. My verbs. My inky veins. I have quilled her a thou -sand poems in paper sky, … Continue reading

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Productivity Waning

… I started several things today, but there was a problem (or two, or three). You see, I’m a shiny object girl, a swirl of paint and chalk and heart-felt talk (no time for silly exchanges of how’s the weather? … Continue reading

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Turning into something like envy, but not quite.

.. Hail the trees, receiving spring with open limbs. We watch the sky for blossom-clouds and promises. Even the sea’s gone all apple on us, forbidden and sweet.   .. twiglet #61.     

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ask alice

.. if her smile’s gone all slant -like, or cheshire or shrink me-mad or silent. if the violence of the fall …..was worth it all, or if she’d rather go back for good, …..if she even could. ask her if … Continue reading

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and still, she is writing about smallish dragons

because she can feel their hot breath on her neck, the weight of their scales and talons in the tresses of her hair. they’ve got a thou -sand whispered things, and she is but one pen -dulum, swinging. they’ve got … Continue reading

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as it turns out,

  … we are smallish dragons, wayward songs, tiny poems waiting to be caught …….{fought, taught} by the tail, flailed in storms.     ..

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moon mother lathers the sky

  play magnetic poetry here. 

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this poem is not a

.. lulled leapdance nor bubbled-balloon, springdrizzle-dawn, cloudspark spawn. it’s neither curli-cued, open-stormshadowed nor leaving the creakrockcrunch of shimmer-spill. still, we hope it pepper-rose-spices your free-bliss dreamsoul, twist-skips grinmeltshimmer bones. Echo-sounds the dawn’s bouncekick, leaves green-breezespill, roses. this poem’s a journey … Continue reading

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this was not necessarily the thing I wanted, but that thing flew away

.. i do know why the caged bird sings; i also know why they cage the bird. these pondered, wander -wondered words, these pieces of my poem -heart, these winged things, they plot their escape from the moment they’re breathed. … Continue reading

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because her skin is paper thin

.. , this poem is aching, forsaking all others and staking her claim. she poems in sigh -lence and strain, drains her(selves) of salt, and ink. she thinks in phrase, praises the page, this sky-scarred poet in scumbled, scattered bliss. … Continue reading

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