Monthly Archives: April 2022
(in the key of clack) :: we’ve left our black smudges on the pages of each other’s hearts. we’ve flirted, we’ve fallen.we’ve phrased. we’re right here last callin’glasses raised for one moreround, glass syllables clinkedand jackets donned. and now as we soldier on (as these … Continue reading
you have been living with my ghost. the rest of me is gone,wisp’d way by grief. all that’s left here are remnants hanging in the air ,words not said old smoke rings and other barely there things. :: In April, we poem.
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart: when you sing in your whisky voice when the world is mud-luscious, the little bird by snow and stir by stillwhen the world is puddle-wonderful he sang his didn’t he danced his did. … Continue reading
We stopagainst our better judgement, even though we’ve barely got a dime between us and we shoulda used it for laundry because your last t-shirt is starting to smell like that rest stop two towns back. The black black pavement just keeps on moving and that dot-to-dot … Continue reading
except it isn’t, really. this is just the onethey call the pen -ultimate. :: In April, we poem.
a faithful family. a good map jaunt. her dad’s green eyes. her mama’s smile. the firmest of foundations. a fair shake, a good start. butsometimes she carries her gifts like burdens,small curse words on curious tongue: fingers that crave ink,and a two-sizes-too-big … Continue reading
We commit them to memory, wear them as articles of faith, don them like habits. Sky. Sea. Tree. Wild. Breeze. We take the ones that move us and groove them into our skin. We close our eyes and paint our fingers cobalt, emerald, saffron. Count … Continue reading
A “concrete” poem for NaPoWriMo, day 28. I LOVE concrete poems, but have neither the time nor knowledge today to make one on WordPress or a Word doc. This, this…a magnetic poetry offering, screenshot. 😉
(a sonnet variation called a “duplex”) :: I am a swirling alphabet storm. Nobody knows the order of this chaos. The order of chaos is unknown, even to me. The key is making sense of all the spaces in between. The … Continue reading
(a Golden Shovel poem using my Ro. Sham. Beau. poem from day 26) We thought it was what it was, the end and be all of sigh-language fun, the soup to nuts and center guts of all games of the heart and dynamitesmiles. All the while, we reallydidn’t see the fabled forest until we ran into the trees, … Continue reading