Tag Archives: Chapbook Challenge 2018

One More Time for the People in the Back

Posted on November 30, 2018 by whimsygizmo

{a remix} The moon’s in a mood, (imagine her wild, midnight -maroon) shaky-swoon-spooned over sturdy skinned knees, driven breeze. This is her hour of burning hunger, quiet storm. She’s ivory sea, and I can’t quiet see her center. Praise these … Continue reading →

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Feeling fractured, not quite full

Posted on November 29, 2018 by whimsygizmo

(A praised day found) . Please forgive me for the song that loops around us now, this quiet separation from the ……….stars. We raise our tiny voices to the sky – doodler of dragons, an unsolvable equation of puberty and … Continue reading →

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She’s found herself in ink and sky

Posted on November 27, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. , and silent salt. The squawking cry of hungry gulls. The broken praise of trees. She’s on her knees in dark -est hour, bone-tired and waiting. Forgive her, Father (Son, and wholly long-loved ghost); at most, she’s brave. She’s … Continue reading →

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Shaky Hands, Sturdy Chalk

Posted on November 27, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. When the words won’t flow, she smudges tiny poems.   .. In November, we poem.     

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Forgive me, Father

Posted on November 15, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.  This glorious disaster, this dark -est hour repent. I’ve grown tired of the privacy of these hol(e)y walls. I shall make of this whole burning sky a confessional, an adolescent lust for redemption, release. Find me here, on bended … Continue reading →

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A(u)nti(e) Social

Posted on November 15, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. She draws dragons on her front walk in the brightest colors she can find, blues and purples and greens, with yellowed eyes. They’re not for good luck. They’re to keep out the real beasties. Prying eyes and false smiles, … Continue reading →

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Dis {aster}

Posted on November 12, 2018 by whimsygizmo

She can handle the hurricane, the daily strain, the thunder, rain and torn -ado tiers. She has prepared for years for this monsoon mourning season, long storm sting. The hardest thing: this quiet separation from the ………………stars.     .. … Continue reading →

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Tired of the Inevitable Deaths of Smallish Dragons

Posted on November 3, 2018 by whimsygizmo

, she chalks their wings in darkest hour -glass green, splendid in their falling. They’re sprawling loose and long and strong in this bright sky, and she can see tiny talons, teeth. Truth. The wild wild proof and promise of … Continue reading →

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tired of the entanglement of titles

Posted on November 3, 2018 by whimsygizmo

, she colors outside the lies. revels in her own muchness, such as it is at this moment in tumbled ………………-time.   .. In November, we poem.       

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Curbside

Posted on November 2, 2018 by whimsygizmo

  .. We are weary star -chalkdusted fury fugue. For we have been here for hours and hours and hours, most of them black as night. But like this aching, waking sky, only our cracked-open places allow the spill and … Continue reading →

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