Upward-Facing Poet

There once was a girl who wore braids
even when they all said act your age!
And she donned yoga pants
just to give peace a chance
while she sat still and pressed words to page.


Grace has us pondering the world’s knack for criticism, and writing Limericks, for
day 12 of the Self-Love challenge. I still owe days 10 and 11, but who’s counting? 


To find out how I feel about actual yoga, click here: Wait, Where are the Pretzels? 

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Sometimes Tuesday’s Poems Tumble {into Friday}


It’s noisy in here
……….{my head}
this place of scattered
and sometimes
dread. I’m airing
out my poems now,
clean fresh sheets
in the sun…
sky finally full
of sound words
days undone.

tuesday’s twiglet (#62). 


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False Alarms & Tired Capes


I thought maybe
the sky was falling
but it turned out
to just be Chicken
Little and his curious
squawk, but
all that talk
end of days
has me thinking
it’s time for some new

Prompted by Poetic Asides




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Wonder in Indigo & Ebony


There’s a black smudge in a skeletal tree telling me secrets, in song. There’s a busy leaf, capturing breeze. The sky is that particular shade of blue that just makes my heart happy for no other reason than blue itself. My own breath is slow, a hum and rhythm in my chest – a bird let out of cage, and holding out for heavens. My feet know this path, their own crunch-shuffle, and the day is poured out long in front of me, still. Unhurried. Unworried, like that little crow. All this blue, and no particular place to go.

rustled leaves whisper
dark bark songs on quiet limbs,
stretch before flying.

Day 9 for Grace’s 28 Days of Self Love. 


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Intricate Storms

Screenshot 2018-02-08 14.49.49Photo credit: Abby Jackson (age 14) 


For after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is let it rain. —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

You sent abundant rain, O God, to refresh the weary land. Psalm 68:9



Let it rain.
Let the rivers take my pain and slake my thirst
for more than this.

Let it rain.
Let my veins run with ink and trace roadmaps
to Your heart.

Let it rain.
Joyful breeze and faded song, the longing
of my skin for silence.

Let it rain.
Let me be filled with more than ache and less
than all; be still.

Let it rain.
Until I am mud
and puddle



Day 8 for Grace’s 28 Days of Self Love Challenge.
Mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful are borrowed from my favorite, E.E. Cummings.




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(th)inking in thirds

She watches the sky swirl the same old songs.
The stars are needle points,
and the band plays on.



For ink in thirds thursdays. Come play! 

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Smashed Word Broken

let all go – the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things – let all go

so comes love
E.E. Cummings



I am shedding my old skins
again. Onion to apple, just
like that. My center is a stone;
I know. Have felt it
pebble-skip its way across
this river-sea, released from
me, my hand and I. I have
traced my name in sand,
and watched it disappear,
let it swell with moonglow
and sky sorrow swirl.

I surrender. All. Small. Too
big to fit in this buzz-swarm
heart. I am pulling it all apart
like a clementine, handing
you a segment or two and
walking away
from its sweetness.

I am incomplete and collecting
new pieces. I am full, and letting
some fall. I am gathering stars
and watching their fuzz glow
smudge itself across my skin
like dead fireflies, spent

I am fighting my own fists,
the urge to grip these tender
things, keep them in my sights.

I am setting free this cold
caged heart. Blank-slate stating
right up front that I am
nothing. Waiting.



Day 7 of Grace’s 28 Days of Self Love challenge. My title comes from E.E. Cummings’ poem, which you can read in full here



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