Author Archives: whimsygizmo

When the sun goes down and tomorrow isn’t promised

,  we (bold) blow our breaths loose and wonderwish a way to say   the stilted phrases,scattered phases of our long-lost selves.  we sold our souls for a star,and we’re sorry.  we hold our breaths for a silver-sliver of moon, a shiver of silence.  :: It’s Quadrille Monday over at dVerse, and … Continue reading

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Black thrones waiting for finger strikes {Wooing the Muse} 

She’s a wily one-der, all curled up crescent like a soon-hiding moon.  She swoons at sea, sirened only by salt. (But she can barely swim and gets con-fused.)  Eyes closed, we clack. For our own   (sanity) sake, we eat cake.  And are not a-mused.  :: … Continue reading

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(pre)amble 

this poem is the alpha(dog-gerel) -bet against the house, the unquiet mouse(or wheel) who squeaks first.  at worst, it’s a squawk -stab in the dark, a tent-ative spark to start something new. a cool blue sky awaiting scribble.  wiggle it a little. giggle to the moon, she’ll swoon you … Continue reading

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Happily Ever 

After the rain (before the moon), they hum their free-dom tunes to a storied sky.  The world whirls by with a royal flair, but they’rejust happy to behere with the trees.   ::In November, we poem.

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Breaking Point 

They’ve gone wild(these wayward princesses),bored of bibbidi-bobbidi boo,tired of titles and weary of woo.  They’ve decided to break it all down lose the shoes and crack their crowns into a mosaic of glitterglee.  See? The world shines better broken. Spoken. Free. ::It’s Quadrille Monday over at dVerse … Continue reading

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Dragon Dance Remix 

{Abbreviated version, with happyness hangover}  Crown hula hoops spun. Dragon hearts won(wrangled, spangled).  Howling’s begunwith freedom sung(bare feet, loose lungs).   Sipping happy tea,steeped in glee (whiles, smiles).  :: Day 27.

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adagio

this poem is the snailish one,the long slow hum of something not yet said.  it’s not quite ready for prime time, in fact some of its syllables are still in bed.  ::Catching up. Day 28.

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Next to the Oldest Oak Tree 

That’s where they gather the most, the mossand the moments that remind them they’re free.  There are three small pines where they’ve cast their shoes. Here they pause to remember their past.  And then there’s the moon. Eyes and swords skyward,they whisper thank you to stars, and know … Continue reading

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collecting thoughts, connecting dots 

this poem is the thankful one the one that bows in gratitude and readjusts its attitude each time a new line flows.  do you suppose it knows how fragile it is, in its quiet paper skin? how any one  line might be its last straw?  so … Continue reading

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Well at the End of the Wood 

The water’s clean and cold and good, pulled straight up from a lower spring.  They sing as they go, not the high princess ah-ah-ah of their former selves, but a low high-ho of work well done and freedom won and stories spun,  laced in laughter and woven-whim’d … Continue reading

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