it’s only once
(maybe twice) in a blue moon
that we know what we’re
doing.
we of the viole(n)t fingers.
we of the ivory page. we scrape
our inky stripes and cage
our own roared voices into
petaled phrase in hopes of
taming heart. we start with
thorn and scratch our way
to some torn truth. we bare
our teeth in proof or praise,
or any other fragrant name.
::
Merril’s got a great prompt for us over at Poetics today. Come play!
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
The title immediately made me think of all the tiny purple wildflowers popping up everywhere down here! Little tiger-flowers baby-biting flip-flopped big-toes. ❤
I love this poem, obviously. 🙂
I love everything about this, De–the parenthetical words (and letters). I started pulling out lines that I really like, but really it was all of it. 💜
We start with thorn and scratch our way to some torn truth…..
This line resonates with me today. This is the poet’s work….the process itself.
Ah, the trials of a poet!
This whole poem is simply wonderful, Whimsygizmo. I can’t pick out any particular lines because the whole thing is the line but the ambiguity of “we of the viole(n)t fingers” made me smile 🙂
It made me think of how much we try as poets to get it down in ink on paper… love it
and cage
our own roared voices into
petaled phrase in hopes of
taming heart. …really eell-described, and the lines after that very much….and so worth thinking about…masterful…
The poem in its entirety is incredible! Love it, De.