Tag Archives: Quadrille Monday

true north waiting

she is particle dust parched on desert floor, thrust far from the magnet Blue of true.  point her upand just let go; you know she’ll make her way back someday when she’s had her fill of still cobalt.  today, the sky will do.    …       … Continue reading

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poem reparations

she wishes she could fix her muse, air her out in clothes-pinned sunshine, breeze away these blues. perhaps she’ll braid her through dragonclouds or button her to the moon. here, won’t you glue her brittle-broken pieces, shake them loose, fasten … Continue reading

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one lone falling

… she finds herself in mysterious skin, flush with ……(premise) promise, but hemmed ………(and hawed) in. she is just beginning to (accent) accept this new frame, these [brackets] and //bars//. she works ….(dances, runs, rhymes) to unravel this quiet dis … Continue reading

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murmur stone

    A second Quadrille offering, created at magnetic poetry. 

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daisy roar

she boasts a mane, after all, the right to call sun to center. white -petalled promises with up -roarious squalls of lovesme, lovesmenot. we’ve got her in our fists, given her too much power. spent hours hoping over flowered phrase, … Continue reading

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Hey,

won’t you spirit me away to moon or mountain or ocean sway, say that salt and sea are all we need? see, let’s just feel the breeze, squeeze ourselves into some smaller space, erase the fears. lace hands. scribble our … Continue reading

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Magic Beans

{Pandora Prays} I have traded stalks and stockings for bright boxes that open if you twist and turn and yearn just right. You call me sister, daughter, queen, nick my name for your want, your disaster, your separation from stars; … Continue reading

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Cliff’s Notes Left in Wayward Drawers

.. Do you think we have finally held them long enough – these tangled things, our breaths, our hands? I’ll scribble you a sunrise if you’ll loan me one small rhyme. Let’s sell this sky for cobalt scrap; swallow dry … Continue reading

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Sky Calling

.. The stars are sharp tonight, tongues of fire that freeze and float …………..and fall, and we wish they would un-Braille ….us, sing these syllables in a language we might hear and …………..know. The moon? ……..She’s just a golden-throated swallow … Continue reading

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In Answer to a Startled Sun

  We rise, apprised of nothing. We sip sink thirst think, and sigh at clouds. We carve our secret names out loud on caves and canvas, steep our skin in freckled fret. Then that big hope-balloon-moon breaches the horizon, reminding … Continue reading

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