Tag Archives: sevenlings

Sevenling (Convicted)

Convicted by sunrise the changing seasonthe wayward voice of a shifting breeze ,  we play at staying chasing a lost raceholding greatness on hungry tongues. The day holds sentences we cannot serve.  

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Sevenling: a poem of t(h)rees

  A poem of t(h)rees should begin perhaps with black ash, paper birch, scar -let oak. It would stretch skyward in the lightning of open palm, crepe myrtle, and weeping willow’d sway, to teach us the root-word ways of endings. … Continue reading

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temporary furniture

.. we book cases, ceiling fans. wall papers. we’re rocking, easy; arm-in-arm. oh, we stand here – turning tables, folding chairs.   .. for the new-to-me fun twiglets.         ..    

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{Sevenling: Spring}

.. Spring flings herself forward in falling blossoms, sacred sun, singing trees. We daisychain hands, loop strains of song. Plant poems. Sometimes, the robin hums along.   .. Prompted by Prompt Nights with Sanaa over at A Dash of Sunny. … Continue reading

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{Sevenling: I have wished}

.. I have wished upon broken shoelaces, falling coins, fading stars. The world is braiding itself back to primary: red, yellow…blue. Maybe it’s time to color outside the lines.   .. I’m hosting Meeting the Bar later today over at … Continue reading

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Sevenling {3 STRANG3 and SIGNIFICANT DR3AMS}

… Three strange and significant dreams come to her in the dead of night, under glow of moon, under salt of stars. She counts sheep, skeletons, …………….breath. Shakes the day from her eyelashes, and waits.     .. Prompted by … Continue reading

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throwing a wrench into a crooked moon

. we have studiously quib -bled over custody, custard, Custer’s last stand. we’ve glanced our blows upwards, danced the robot and downplayed our hands. paddle on, love. the horizon is waiting.     .. prompted by poetic asides.     

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Sevenling (Septem Maria)

.. We are seven sacred spills steeped in moonshine, sorrow, salt. You swim, you sail, you soil our skin. We beg your mercy, wait for sirens.     ..

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Sevenling (made up of marble, mud)

…. If my name is Ishmael, Jezebel, mud, how then shall I build this house? Sticks and straw are fleeting, and my bleeding brick heart is worn. Will you trade me your best aggie for this blue and green orb? … Continue reading

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