Tag Archives: glass houses

Oh, the marvelous beat of skipping feet

Posted on November 1, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. Won’t you hopscotch walk with me? We have a moon to catch, and she is waiting for us to 1-2-3 our fumbled feet right up into her gold-spilled shine. Sit here, curb -sighed, and wander-wild. We’ll hold our breaths … Continue reading →

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the quiet keening of smallish stones

Posted on April 12, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. we throw them in as wishes, just to see some change in the surface of things, just to watch the ripples rise. we revel in their displacement, the way they sway the river’s path, make bur -bled song of … Continue reading →

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Many stone steps, going somewhere soon.

Posted on February 22, 2017 by whimsygizmo

  .. We crave the cobbling of days, the ways that things unthrown might add up to some pathway, some intricate up. Some cup more than half full. Runneth over. We live in glass houses, under glass ceilings, grass roofs … Continue reading →

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Throwing Stones

Posted on September 30, 2016 by whimsygizmo

… i Shouldn’t, really. (Glass houses and all that C   R    A     S    H -ability.) ii Skip it. Long and low, across the waves, (or whatever saves you from the rest of the storm.) iii The one that … Continue reading →

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Stones, Thrown

Posted on October 2, 2015 by whimsygizmo

.. Sometimes there just aren’t enough words ….witnesses stones, ………..songs. We long for unshattered silence; abandon our slingshots, glass houses, un -cast lots. We toss our hats in too far and scar our own skin with a burning desire for … Continue reading →

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Etching Herself a MoonSliver

Posted on September 25, 2015 by whimsygizmo

gorgeous photo by Tess Kincade   .. Shiver only once in this braided light, and you’ll know the way ………………of sorrows. We’ve got a thou -sand tomorrows to fill, spill through this hour glass; scratch with this fingernail crescent scythe. … Continue reading →

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Twist

Posted on June 4, 2015 by whimsygizmo

. My heart was a door left, a jar (of   fireflies  spent) and you slithered inside to steal their last smudged bit of glow. Oh, how these marbled hours do drag -on. Know that I am keeper of the lid … Continue reading →

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Soup

Posted on April 5, 2015 by whimsygizmo

..   She starts with a stone. Not the one they rolled away, nor the one collected from the shattered feet of her glass ………..(shoes) house, nor one thrown or skipped or river-smoothed by time. She adds ……(salt) water ………..(tears), … Continue reading →

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