Category Archives: storms

breathing in syllables

Posted on November 12, 2019 by whimsygizmo

(a shadorma) .. here there be dragons and rain-fire, summer storm and spring fall; the way the sky slants sideways, a small cloud of flight.   ..In November, we poem. Sometimes, in form. This one’s a shadorma.     

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{after the rain}

Posted on November 12, 2019 by whimsygizmo

… The sky’s got a funny gray way of forgiving us our stray thunder.         ..In November, we poem. Sometimes, in form. This one is an American Sentence.   

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The Inevitable Frailty of Umbrellas

Posted on November 10, 2019 by whimsygizmo

  ..  We have yet to decide where to hide under all these colorful skins. We get ready, get set, but we’re still gonna get a little bit wet.   .. In November, we poem.   

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Seeing ourselves in raindrops

Posted on November 10, 2019 by whimsygizmo

  ..  We watch the rain reflecting all our falling, puddling all our pain. .. In November, we poem. Sometimes, a day late.     

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Catastrophes

Posted on November 8, 2019 by whimsygizmo

.. These are sacred storms, these places where we warm our tattered selves; survivor fires. We’re dog-eared, tired and ready to unleash some small thing from within that just might rebuild this broken, battered sky. .. In November, we poem. … Continue reading →

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Blue Jean Sky

Posted on November 7, 2019 by whimsygizmo

{after the storm} Alanis is on the radio, and oh, we’ve got some miles to go and some old back roads to get to know with the scent of spent rain fresh on our skin. We’ll begin at this corner … Continue reading →

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open palms

Posted on November 6, 2019 by whimsygizmo

.. we raise our eyes to sky and beg the dawn to …….(warn) warm us, swarm us in a buzz of long-bewildered song: more hope, less sting. see, here’s the thing: either way, i’ll stand here ………arms akimbo, palming psalms. … Continue reading →

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Deeply enamored of these changing skies

Posted on November 5, 2019 by whimsygizmo

.. Wise or not, we should’ve shot the clouds straight through with ebony smudge just to see where all this delightful dark -ness might lead. We should’ve pleaded with the lightning for a spark of something more, a place to … Continue reading →

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Scattered Showers

Posted on November 5, 2019 by whimsygizmo

.. He loves me, ……loves me not, loves ……….me, not. Petaled rain -drops settle the score, and she the storm at center.   .. In November, we poem.     

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Nightingale

Posted on November 4, 2019 by whimsygizmo

-force winds knock us loose from our moorings  and we wander (wonder) in the waves awhile, forsaking the dawn. The song. The way our wings want to angle toward the sun. The fray of feathers that no longer fly. There’s … Continue reading →

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