Tag Archives: April PAD 2019

The Art of Going West toward Ottawa with a Complete Forgery of Vermeer’s ‘The Little Street’ in Our Trunk, After the Rain Stops Once Again

{for Grandma Moses} . Don’t stop when we get to the border, no matter how shaken , stirred we are by this heisted hum. Don’t mourn that moon behind us, or this star-scarred sky, or that sinister shade of blue. … Continue reading

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hum again

even when the world shouts loud and the heart breaks easy, even when the devil’s in the details and the day’s tales and the dawn, even when your song is silenced. be numb again. then thaw to sunrise, surrender to … Continue reading

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Bones

(an erasure poem) This poem is the sludge of her pencil, the long lost magic of that gold paint noise.   In April, we poem.    Erasured from this poem from day 21: Bare Bones This poem is drawn        (and … Continue reading

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when evening comes

, and the day’s all wrung out, small and silent – buzzing sunset burned to cricket song, I’m lost in the long …………..(shadow) -gone ghost of you, and the sky’s too small for such an intricate heart.   .. In … Continue reading

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scribbling on the moon

.. we’ve borrowed Orion’s belt -sander, Icarus’ wax and wane, the silver-tipped nibs of these immediate stars. it’s quite a stretch, this lunar etch-a-sketch , but we hope you’ll read it, …………soon. .. In April, we poem.     

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letters to smallish dragons

  we scribble tiny syllables and tuck them between these bright petaled teeth, unsheath our quill-swords and pen the truth in praise and song. they long to be spangled in our word-skins, I think, saturated satiated in wee-stemmed ………………..ink.   … Continue reading

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Poem for a grackle {left on an olive leaf}

.. What a relief for you to caw me your truth, written in -visible ink on this ridiculous sky.   .. In April, we poem.     

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De-linquent

.. This poem has lost her license to drive to thrive to kill to spill – ink or ocean or sky or sea. to fish to wish to kiss and tell. She’s got no ID and no pass -port for … Continue reading

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sitting here, softly

  ..  ruffled trees busy bees wandered breeze baby, please who knew we two made the ultimate view   .. Yesterday’s poem for Poetic Asides.         

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the art of brevity

         In April, we poem.     

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