Tag Archives: November poeming

Squandering Sunlight

.. 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

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Intricate Loathing

.. 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

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When Breaking Open

… , 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

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Love Squared, Shared

.. 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

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Night Music

… 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

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The Intricate Foldings of Sheets, and Hearts

  NovPAD, day 7.

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Outside the Box

.. 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

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know your onions

.. 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

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Writ, You All

.. Summoned we are, summed up in syllables and symbols of our various selves. We stock our shelves with coffee, tea, words. We rise early, stay up late, breathe ink into the in betweens. We find the notion of being … Continue reading

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This Poem is all Silk, and Sow

. This poem gots a perfect bow, shiny silver and slivered just right into curls. Girl’s put on her best iambic dress, her most sure-footed shoes, her moody blues and ebony-kerned sway. She’s got a way of standing up proud, … Continue reading

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