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Tag Archives: November poeming
(for my great-grandmother) And crabapple orchards and hand-carved woodtravel souvenirs and decades-oldhard candies in delicate dishes. Named Pearl,she did both agitateand shine. Her noodles were legendary.(I got sick on them once,and that was the end of that.) Her crooked old … Continue reading
.. There’s a last -ditch effort to our breathing, a long slow grieving process (progress?) that comes sharp with every sunset. We watch it plop into mountain range ocean spill quiet plain; disappear as if it never shined. We hold … Continue reading
.. The way the stars cut sharp, tinder us toward ashes, tender us worth -less. The way the fender bends into the breeze, going ever nowhere and the way the music (too loud) is still saying no -thing and everything … Continue reading
… , bent toward center, inhaled deep like sunshine skin; when shelled and shadowed, fragile with waiting; when debating the difference between sigh and song; when falling. when calling to arms, to stars; when holding worlds in tired hands; stand … Continue reading
.. We go (forth), we multiply, by our selves. We embrace love and trace our selves in papered skin. We grin. We lend a hand. We stand for what is right and fight when needed, on our knees. We are … Continue reading
… There’s a tang -led web of logic (a particular lyrical sway) to the way the cloud pack stacks the deck toward jazz -mine moon. There’s a fin -ality to the way the sea (her siren song strong) froths long … Continue reading
NovPAD, day 7.
.. It’s a castle. A cottage in the woods. A cozy split-level for four in a friendly suburb. See the white ……………………(graffiti) picket fence? It’s a cabin in a dense forest. A humble condo at the lake. Hear the …………….(traffic) … Continue reading
.. mother says pass (they make her eyes run, what with all those layers) but if you can hang in there a many peeling moon or two, there are things held close at center. .. Prompted by Quickly in … Continue reading