Tag Archives: November Chapbook Challenge 2018

one more for the road

Posted on November 30, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. we’re told we don’t have to go home, but we can’t stay here, and so we disappear , soaked in star-spilled scrim and rum -bled phrase.     .. Whew. And November is through. Many kudos to all who … Continue reading →

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i can’t imagine her wild

Posted on November 28, 2018 by whimsygizmo

{mood ring: forgiveness, and other disasters} i. midnight-maroon, for her darkest hour swoon, her great craving for protest and anti -hate, war. ii. gun metal gray for her weary worn heart and its shaky veins, brave un -broken beat. iii. … Continue reading →

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This poem is carrying a sign  

Posted on November 26, 2018 by whimsygizmo

that says it’s busy, working its ast -*erisk off, worth its salt. It’s tired of being underpaid for scribbling storms and pen-painting darkest hour dawns. This poem is highly motivated and power hungry. It is glorious in its gregarious -ness, … Continue reading →

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Papering the Sky

Posted on November 19, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. Be -hold the sun, flush with first blush of day , an unquiet con ……….(artist) -trail of clouds, pass -ing by too soon , the dry rub spark of dark stars, this toxic oxy -mo(r)on. .. In November, we … Continue reading →

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Pick Up Sticks

Posted on November 18, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. One, two Grab your shoes, we’re about to head out into the forest. And there are wolves. Three, four Shut the door. The boogeyman comes out ……..(hungry, quiet) after darkest night. And we just might fool him into thinking … Continue reading →

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Broken Chalk

Posted on November 17, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. This poem got dropped on its head on the way over here, and there is perhaps nothing left but dust. But it’s periwinkle magic, so you’ll trust me when I say that you should read it, anyway.   .. … Continue reading →

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Chipped Saucers, Tiny Spoons

Posted on November 17, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. I stop by for a cup of tea and a song, but instead she says We are all a little broken , and I know she’s right, that the glory of us, of this place is in our scars, … Continue reading →

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across the street from his house

Posted on November 16, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. , she skips rope plays eenie meenie miney mo on tutu’d tiptoes. smears her whole name in bright green chalk, feels brave.     .. In November, we poem. 

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Beautifully Broken

Posted on November 16, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. Here is where the midnight cracked us, tracked us down and stole our song. Here is where our weary hearts split open, crazy broken on too-thin shattered strings. Here is where the dreams we had as teens (all those … Continue reading →

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Antediluvian

Posted on November 15, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. This poem is everything that happened before the flood. Our distinguished dark -est hour prayers. A small nod to our tired of trembling souls. Please excuse our penchant for privacy and paradise lost, the small filament findings that clasp … Continue reading →

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