Tag Archives: PoMoSco

Won’t you have a sip of ocean?

. Is stillness ………..my secret? (Bird, may I borrow your feathers?) Where do you get the idea for a poem? Butterflies and bees and bumbles? The question is what is it? What’s the good of a wagon without any dragon … Continue reading

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Fledgling Spring

. How ever, under one name or another, stout beaks crush weed seeds. With my fieldglass, I soon locate the little bird (sometimes tangled by an old stone wall.) When you startle a sparrow, you may find it winter. Sometimes … Continue reading

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A Sprinkling of Oleanders

. Blond from woke, whiskers climbed last dry blooms, delicate leaves, spring flames like the roof. Mother: three quarter the could, the blond pale midnight like whiskers of climbed white desert, bed of moon. We woke the spotted shriveling blooms. … Continue reading

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Drop in. Support. Group.

It’s a whole new world ……………………………….of sunny days and sage, trampoline spirits ………………….queen-size sleep …………………………………………………………silent art. Moose hunters eye the …………………………harvest, fall in zones. Two rivers winter, ……………………..aikido, mostly waltz, making …………………….a way to get home. .. Playing PoMoSco with … Continue reading

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snuffle clopping

(a focus plan for circle time) .. noisy words sound heard when an ovine opines (clop. echo. snuffle.) – cold words running after my hat. thinking briefly at the hobbit’s pockets, the moon chaser minotaur, extremely good at getting things … Continue reading

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Crowing Gerunds

… Preceding season, the nesting crow (markings of gray and brown) ….is hearing the gulls assemble waiting, expectant eating the body opening in the rock opening in a forest feeding (feasting) upon a sage sprouting corn, investigating a haunch sloping … Continue reading

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How to block out the sun, and find a poem

Search Sync ………share Sign …………………………access mark words, ……………………open fire. . Still occasionally piggybacking Margo on PoMoSco, cuz she’s awesome and I like to play with words. 😉

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Shepherding Bones

(a cento of first lines from Patrick Rosal’s Boneshepherds)   .. Dear feverless, dear poets, dear love- Mothers, This morning, my cousin Joseph and I both stink. The sweat flicks from your elbows, and so we’ve been told to shutup … Continue reading

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