kissing the stair post

(though love be a day
and life be nothing,it shall not stop kissing).

– E.E. Cummings

 

 

..
everything isn’t ever always
wonderful, of course. but there
are those moments when you
find yourself delighted by the
very token broken thing that
drives you crazy, find yourself
craving the cracks and the scars
and the cacophony of sounds
that mean home. find yourself
rich in ways you didn’t know,
running, gleeful, through
the snow.
..
Prompted by Poetic Asides, where Robert asks us to capture a book or movie moment. Who can name this one? 

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feckless freckle poem

..

freckle me some words,
me says
(to me)
who really
(reallllly)
wants to wade
back into the sea.

freckle me some words,
she says
(to she)
and so I sit here, desert
(bound)
and less than footloose
fancy-free.

freckle me a poem,
me says
to me. dot all eyes
and crisscross
all tease;
we’ll see what
transpires.

freckle me a poem,
she says
to she. and so we
polka-dot-thought
our way
{star-g(r)azed}
across this bumbled be.

 

..

My Shawna said write a freckle poem, so i dood it. ;) 

 

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finding her here

Screenshot 2016-08-08 15.38.12

 

 

play magnetic poetry here

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a thousand shards of cobalt glass

(singing her blues)

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..

she is all in
-digo skin and turquoise
streak, stitched denim in her
wanting. her Lake

ache is strong, but she belongs
here, steeped in this desert

sky. do you feel the tremble of her
veins? they’re beginning to mold
themselves strange
around these tumble
-weed days, find ways of
flowing fin against all this
beige. break

her open and you’ll find her
salt, her center, her quiet
place, cobbled together
by shades
of grace.

 

..

Tomorrow, I am hosting Poetics over at dVerse, and pondering my favorite shade.
The bar opens at noon, PST. I hope you’ll join us! 

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Us, to the 10th power

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A decade of days falls soft behind us, a mere blink of an eye and the building of a quiet life. The coast calls, and we fling babies to Grammy’s house and responsibilities to the wind, and follow that west-blown breeze to the edge of our earth. We call Cannon Beach home for four star-stung, spellbound nights. By day, we bask in the barefoot glory of silken sand and an unspooling cornflower sky the color of a wedding dress worn two handfuls of years ago.

We amble through tiny treasure shops spilling with old books and spiny shells. We stroll and sip slow, steep ourselves in rich Bella coffee and the amber glow of ware-laden windows. Haystack Rock beckons. Gently, we touch stars and laugh at crusty rock scramblers, then ramble our own way to Crescent Beach, where we trade sand dollars for salt-laced kisses. Later, with our last night’s breath, under a loopy Oregon moon, we weave plans and whisper our renewed vow: see you again soon.

Ocean swells, casts spells
across a full moonstone sky
carried off by gulls.

 

 

..
Written for Toni’s Haibun Monday prompt over at dVerse. My hubby and I love to spend our anniversary at the Stephanie Inn, in Cannon Beach, Oregon, when time, kid logistics and money allow. So far we have spent our 10th, 12th and 16th anniversaries there. 

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The sailing of her heart into a wide winged sky

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Home again, and even here
the sky’s a song, a rhythm and
blues tango-tangle of cloud
-stitched cobalt quilt. She’s built
of this, this indigo swirl, this
lake sky curl that reminds her
to remain liquid even here in
the desert. Look up,

you’ll see. Heaven smiles in
turquoise shimmer, the steady
thrum of birdwings and hum
-bled breeze. She’s sees it all
in the still small silence of
post-Lake bliss, the kiss of
cooler places still on her lips
against all this bright bleak sun.
……………………………..Lift limbs,

there’s a distant hymn
waiting to be sung.

 

 


Prompted by Poetic Asides. Fresh back from Tahoe. Let the mo(u)rning begin. 

 

 

 

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