Tag Archives: aubades

Aubade with Yolk on Its Face 

:: And suddenly the day’s cracked open like a broken storm,with me alone at center.  :: In November, we poem. This one’s an aubade.

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Aubade with eggshell shards

The day cracks open (again) too soon, all broken yolk goo and too-bright sky.  She wasn’t quite finished with that silken moon, the silver-blackeyed promises of stars.  It’s got sharp edges and a bird-song sting, too many things and not enough salt.  ::PAD, day 22.

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Abide (an Aubade)

Crack open that bright blue dawn and watch the sun yawn and stretch again, begin to light our f(l)ight.  We raise wings and sing, abide in deeper things than the morrows and sorrows of this place. This day, we find grace in the staying.  :: it’s Quadrille … Continue reading

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Hesitations of the Dawn

We forget her scar -let dress is just for early risin’, surprisin’ us with all its crimson silk applause. Pause, take a second ………..look , and book a table for two near the horizon.   .. Prompted by Poetic Asides.  … Continue reading

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aubade for all things fading, strong 

{fare thee well, april} Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end. – Semisonic, Closing Time   a smoothness which sings,saying (though love be a day) do not fear,we will go amaying. – E.E. Cummings   .. April bends, … Continue reading

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This here’s the story of a girl.

(an ovillejo aubade) .. She borrowed light of moon …………too soon to hold the stars above …………with love. And by the break of dawn, …………she’s gone. But in her parting song, you’ll find a hidden line that holds you just … Continue reading

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Aubade with Broken Fingers

  She’s doing some aching again, greeting the day with open hands and a moaning heart, starting a song on this sky piano with knuckles lost to greater fights. She’s right at the center of that rising sun, mourning loss … Continue reading

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aubade wrapped in tomorrow’s skin

.. before the sun stretches hot and bold, we hold one last gaze at the nothingness of fickle fallen stars. .. twiglet #64.     

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Perhaps She is the Thumbprint of Some Wayward Queen

.. You say to talk about her in a new way and I must tell you I am exhausted. She exhausts me. My nouns. My verbs. My inky veins. I have quilled her a thou -sand poems in paper sky, … Continue reading

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Aubade for the A.M.

… Morning breaches too soon, and the moon bids us farewell. That tangerine swell from the east says night has fallen to the other side, pried its dark hands from this horizon. We sway north, question our own salt, and … Continue reading

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