Tag Archives: clacking black

Striking Sky

.. God’s taking full -flash photos again and it all rips open in a zigzag stab of gold cracking black in half, all clacking cymbals and flickered blaze. Our gaze is broken by thunder, struck by time, backlit by the … Continue reading

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tiny poem

.. just a line or two clacked against all this busy breeze. .. prompted by poetic asides

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shhhhh…there’s only time for tiny poems

and so she clacks a wee small bit of black in the margins. smudge. sway. it is no great secrecy that she wishes for more, longs to store the rest of the world away and shout the things on her bursting heart. … Continue reading

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morning glories

.. this pen these keys the long slow please -pull of coffee and precious pre-chaos dark. this spark and all its ancient fire and ice and storm and strum. the thrum of heart beat black and blue and clacked to … 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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Riposte for a Curious Sky

.. What is it we have learned from pebbled songs? Simply this: We are word warriors forming sacred battle lines just in (case)time for our brokenness to find a place to feel (g)rounde(d);lay its small unquiet secrets. We have a … Continue reading

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I Once Was Lost

I am scribbler, seeker, word scavenger. Flit and flutter, dot-to-dot soul. I will clack black, indigo, and make worlds of all this silence.   A found poem scavenged from my own poem journal, for day 4 of Grace’s 28 days … Continue reading

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Paper, White

  This place, a lake. I see myself. I float my words. I plow black through silent snow and wait for echo.   .. Cool prompt over at Poets United. Come play. 

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I Want Blank Pages

, and periwinkle chalk, and indigo ink that stains my skin. Slips of trees waiting. Sea. Sky. Sand and salt and wide-spilled stars. Shine. Black clacked, plowed through a snowstorm of white. The peace of another sunrise, and time ………………………………….to … Continue reading

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Power Lines

..   This poem is a live wire, a woven liar, a vowed lyre with a broken string. It’s a filament of sigh and song, a quiet longing sizzling across the miles. It’s a caffeine-keyed up smile, clacked black against … Continue reading

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