just a quick question in passing

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because i am yet unfinished,


i will allow these cobbled walls to sing their
bumpy beginnings, give their mortared veins

a chance to breathe. let us fill these center
places with salt, silt, sky; stain them with

truth and the moss green of breeze. can you
see that i am waiting to be something greater,

knocked down built up held fast by a grounded
sea? sit here with me awhile, and listen. I am.




photo and prompt from margo roby.


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grape tomatoes and goat cheese


just these,
please. and maybe
some arugulalala,
and a gentle sprinkle
of candied





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this poem got up on the wrong side of the bed

this poem
is a lost soul, waiting
to be chased; a loose tongue
that can not erase
the things it’s said.

this poem wanted to be in
-digo, until i stained it
slightly unblushed pink.
i think it’s mad, but
it’s hard to tell.

this poem is a spell
without a witch, which
ticks it off so much it just
might twitch its own damn
nose and make you
all dis

this poem is a smear, a
smudge, a too-small aching
nudge toward something
greater than all this

this poem knows
how to begin, but never
where to end.

it’s a fair-weathered un
-feathered friend, a hopeghost
bird with only a small strain
of song.

this poem is empty,
of longing,
and lies.

to love the poem,
you must release it, crease
it in two. hope
……….it flies.



prompted by poets united

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bleed away

Screenshot 2015-08-26 10.41.53

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Mixed Bag


This mo(u)rning:
somebody shot some
somebodies for no other reason
than anger and hatred
and pain.

And the political rants
are still a-ranting
and chanting and planting
their seeds of lies and deceit
and illusion.

And there’s never enough
time to write, gotta fight
for these words that save
and stave off the

But my pup’s muzzle
is warm, and these
soft raindrops have driven
away the still
-scorching sun.


prompted by poetic asides


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