Tag Archives: pockets

beach sand 

if you hold it just right (in pocket, in hand)it’s magic fairy dust.  :: Quickly, day 30. I may write more later, but today’s nuts.

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Pockets

My daughter (grown, not yet flown) asks me why I need so many and I try to explain that I am still carrying my childhood phone number, six jingles from the 80s, a tiny sprinkle of Tahoe sand,and a look she gave mewhen she was 15. And … Continue reading

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Posted in November Chapbook 2022 | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

Found Poem 

We gather things: tender buttons, bits of string, sea glass, chimneysweep soot.  It’s not the stuff of dreams, but it holds us. The murmur of morning, the tick-toxic cluck of clock.  A wayward word. Some lint left overfrom yesterday’s storm.  ::In November, we poem.

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hope {and other smallish things that sing} 

she tucks it in pockets and lockets pressed near her heart, jumpstarted by its tiny zing. there’s a fleck of fuzz in there, too. a baby stone of azure blue. a crumb of sand. a strand  of scarlet string. a wee adieu. a fewtiny buttonsand … Continue reading

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pocket change

.. let’s stuff some hope in there, and some kindness, too, a little sun -shine and some promises that just might fight these denim blues. we’ll need some unity and a quiet few who are willing to break through and … Continue reading

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cues

.. sometimes they spark if you hit them just right, let them bump and grind, find their way along felt. we talk and chalk a few things up to strong drinks and weakness, the way the tables have turned, the … Continue reading

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