Tag Archives: in april we poem

17 cents

.. just two ….(call ’em lucky) pennies and three nickels …….(rub ’em all together) that say she just might make it , that this sky might turn from black …and blue to sunrise tangerine so sweet, that these dirty feet … Continue reading

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social breeze

.. it carries in the wisdom of these trees, the hum-hum-hummer of these birds, a hint of song. we’ve held it, quiet in our aching hands our un-hugging hands our un-holding hands our idle hands our hungry hands, but as … Continue reading

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name her selah

.. this poem is a thump a bump a lonely howl , an embrace in the face of death. she’s a fixture of promise, a moment of resolve , some tender -ness at the hardened center of it all. .. … Continue reading

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intricate howl

.. we embrace the space, these fixtures of lonely resolve. but there is still fear. of now. of when, and how. of things that go ………………………..{bump} in the night.   .. in april, we poem.       

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the unknown tomorrows of smallish dragons

blurrrrsday again, and the be -fuddlement continues. we know not what these hours might hold, nor how we shall knit them together to make a quilt of promise. but still we don our brightest tutus and most audacious ………………..clouds, as … Continue reading

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Lady Luck Takes a Rest

{Covid daze, Vegas style} .. My city is sleeping , shedding her green felt skins for bluer skies and quiet streets. The geese have taken over, waddling down the Strip like they own the joint, the new Bugsy Siegels of … Continue reading

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palms, sunday.

I need a moment to deliberate… -Alanis Morissette, ‘Uninvited’   .. our feet are tired, and so we count these things …………(eenie, meenie) on outstretched hands, hoping the sky might have …(miney, mo) answers we cannot find. all that blue … Continue reading

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distancing

.. even the  s t a r s are too far apart tonight and that small-sliver …………………………………moon has placed herself just out of reach.   .. even far apart, we poem.      

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Shocklifting

This is a stolen poem. It is ripped from the headlines, borrowed from the breeze. It flees the scene every time some -one says boo. It has burgled its iambic feet and too-used shoes from a girl on the corner … Continue reading

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Pond Life

(for Basho) .. I know nothing of frogs and their plop-and-splashing, translations with exclamation points, and those without. But I have met cutting words in darkness, echoed again against the shattered sunspill silence of my lily pad heart.   .. … Continue reading

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