Tag Archives: scribbling storms

Blue Jean Sky

Posted on November 7, 2019 by whimsygizmo

{after the storm} Alanis is on the radio, and oh, we’ve got some miles to go and some old back roads to get to know with the scent of spent rain fresh on our skin. We’ll begin at this corner … Continue reading →

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open palms

Posted on November 6, 2019 by whimsygizmo

.. we raise our eyes to sky and beg the dawn to …….(warn) warm us, swarm us in a buzz of long-bewildered song: more hope, less sting. see, here’s the thing: either way, i’ll stand here ………arms akimbo, palming psalms. … Continue reading →

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Deeply enamored of these changing skies

Posted on November 5, 2019 by whimsygizmo

.. Wise or not, we should’ve shot the clouds straight through with ebony smudge just to see where all this delightful dark -ness might lead. We should’ve pleaded with the lightning for a spark of something more, a place to … Continue reading →

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Scattered Showers

Posted on November 5, 2019 by whimsygizmo

.. He loves me, ……loves me not, loves ……….me, not. Petaled rain -drops settle the score, and she the storm at center.   .. In November, we poem.     

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Nightingale

Posted on November 4, 2019 by whimsygizmo

-force winds knock us loose from our moorings  and we wander (wonder) in the waves awhile, forsaking the dawn. The song. The way our wings want to angle toward the sun. The fray of feathers that no longer fly. There’s … Continue reading →

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Night Rain

Posted on November 4, 2019 by whimsygizmo

  .. , and the sky is falling in skywater shards, and stars.   .. In November, we poem. ..  

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Naming Storms

Posted on November 2, 2019 by whimsygizmo

… Hurricanes are christened alphabetically, …..male …female, ………even …odd and the big ones get retired: Andrew, Katrina, Sandy. I read their headlines, ink my fingers in their bruised skies , and long to spill my own torn -ado’d heart, label … Continue reading →

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dandelions in the rain

Posted on August 12, 2019 by whimsygizmo

.. she wears a scarf of scribbled poem fluff, just thick enough to ……………(warn) warm us. and her voice cracks open this one last stone of truth: the day’s a storm of sting and silence and we’re all just waiting … Continue reading →

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