Author Archives: whimsygizmo

and the sky played on 

she never knew the moon was made of music, orion belting out the blues.  and then she flew, mad as midnight, wild as stars. ::In November, we poem.

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beach sand 

if you hold it just right (in pocket, in hand)it’s magic fairy dust.  :: Quickly, day 30. I may write more later, but today’s nuts.

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The Sun’s Up Again  And the world keeps turning and the sky keeps squawking and I swear you  just keep talking, while the geese fly by like little white lies.  Catch one for me, and wring its neck.  I dare you.  ::In November, we poem.

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The Fox & the Gazelle 

(Do tell.)  :: They gaze and graze and guzzle,stopping over the winter stream.  Somebody wished on a star, but put a stopper in the jar.  Don’t ask the geese, they’ve got enough flop. (Full stop.) Corn popsthen stops.   How do I love … Continue reading

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True North and Other Quiet Lies 

The compass says we’re therebut I still feel the pull of something greater, some crater in my soul that says we’ve got a ways to go.  We wake. We give. We grieve. We take. We’re born. We mourn all those livesthat could be ours.  And we … Continue reading

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Giving Ourselves a Host of Titles, Each in Turn a Song 

We are ancient trees of longingsaplings scrabbling skybark holding breath for morning limbs reaching for wayward starsroots thirsty for darker water.  We are head-down growingfull crunch hollow halfmoons turned to stonealone in our soil-sigh wanting.  Jinx us with juniper branchessmall black curses of … Continue reading

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Re:Mused (the one with all the titles)  for want of wings, here in the resolve of remaining, (with Poe, of trees),we are shaking out the down placing deliberate storms in bold pockets, found poems of Icarus waning,  moonsquabble myths of moon.   (come, o better fates) assessment: after all … Continue reading

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grey balloon set in a painted sky 

:: why don’t you embrace all that blue?  :: Quickly, day 27.

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Shaking out the Down 

“I am a feather for each wind that blows.” William Shakespeare :: Look up, the sky’s a fluffered songof promise. A float of hope.  Let’s make ourselves a small and quiet place to gather these loose quills caught.  **Cue the lightning.** On second thought, let’s not. … Continue reading

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PoeTree 

Sometimes I’m terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.– Edgar Allan Poe  :: We’ve got this hunger, see? These walls around our chambered souls, these syllables overflowing.  Our veins are … Continue reading

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