Belated Thrones and Unthrown Stones


He held a dream
in quiet hands.
………….{now, still}
wonder if the world

will ever be ready to
whisper itself some
semblance of sane.

Do you hear
the echoes of
that peace? That
piece of ourselves
we might
………….{now, still}

A third offering for dVerse

Posted in dVerse poems, Quadrille | Tagged , , , , , | 22 Comments

this poem is a whisper

a twisted scar-shadow,
breeze-curled dance
of chance. leave it out

in the open, melted
down for songs, lulled
shimmer-safe into the
skipspark of its own dark
name. we breathe bubbles,

grin green clouds. twist
roses through our journey,
cue ink
from quiet jars.


A second Q44; the one with all the words. Come play with me at dVerse 

Posted in Quadrille | Tagged , , , , , | 44 Comments

tree skins and silence


i am inky-quiet
and strange to my own
touch. I am lo(o)sing
my muchness to some
and find me here,
among these forest fallings;
i dare you. i swear,
somewhere between
and the whisper
-thin pages of our
own breathing.


It’s Quadrille Monday over at dVerse, and I’m hosting. Come whisper with me…

Posted in dVerse poems, Quadrille | Tagged , , , , , , | 54 Comments

An Abundance of Artichokes


It started with the radishes. Wily little blushing suckers;
plop-popping up everywhere, ready to be plucked from

the soil and ravenously ravished in spicy bites. We thought
briefly of carrots, but thought better. Bitter being better, per

-haps. Or maybe something more in fashion, a fusion of
blueberry and breeze. We all want something from this

hollow ground, some hated approximation of strange,
some range of loose-lipped lie and little garden tag

stating how better to take care of this lonely
one: more water, less sun.


Whew. Caught up with Quickly. This is for day 13



Posted in Miz Q January | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

all is fine, and {inky} well


please, give her some
(hope, that thing with feathers)
something with which
to scritch


Prompted by Miz Q, day 14. Still catching up, backward. 

Posted in Miz Q January | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

paper parchment skies

she sits
under the bougainvillea
with her books. swallows wor(l)ds
whole, feeds her soul
with stories.

she cries
when characters die,
has a hardcore crush on Poe,
and Twain. stains
her fingers in blackberries
and ink.

she thinks
the sky might open and
take her, make her something
more, give her a dragon
heart, a leaping frog,
……………….a sword.


Prompted by Miz Q, day 15 {catching up, backward} 


Posted in Miz Q January | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Pocketing Blue

Okay, the horizon’s
gone a little murky
and the air
-waves are a cacophony
of argumentation
and delineation
and falsification
and hate. We debate
and we try to satiate
our hunger with
happenstance instead
of hope. We grope
around in the darkness
instead of turning
on our own small lights.

We wander
and wonder
why it all
still feels the
Oh, but see?
The sky

The sun,
(no surprise)
will rise and fall
at will and the moon
will spill her wisdom
even as she’s waning.
These sharp-spun stars
…….(defying jars)
will shine and fall
and spark and die,
and you and I,
perhaps we’ll un
-hurry, unworry,
untether ourselves
and cloud-float on by,




Prompted by Quickly, day 16. Catching up, backward. 


Posted in Miz Q January, moon poems | Tagged , , , , , , , | 12 Comments