Tag Archives: sun poems

long tree shadows on an early morning lawn 

Posted on April 29, 2023 by whimsygizmo

as if the sun himself is s t r e t c h i n g  , to hold hands with all these blades. 

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on withholding info from a distant sun

Posted on April 8, 2022 by whimsygizmo

  Tell all the truth but tell it slant –Emily Dickinson  :: that certain slant of light doesn’t tell us much,and since we can’t touch its warmth the whole  truth is not yet known. they tell you we revolve,that it absolves … Continue reading →

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Meaning of Morning

Posted on November 16, 2020 by whimsygizmo

: with her sun-sliver smile and the way she shines anew;  she’s got a secret, see? All thingscan change, rearrange themselves  into new songs. And some things can be (a 5, 6, 7, 8) counted on,                                            like rising.  :: written for poetic asides November … Continue reading →

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spitting at the sun

Posted on April 23, 2018 by whimsygizmo

she’s too hot too handle, and so the boys take action, look up and fire away. …………gravity laughs.   ..

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Swallowing Sun

Posted on April 18, 2016 by whimsygizmo

“Sunshine cannot bleach the snow, Nor time unmake what poets know.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson “Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing…” – John Ruskin   .. It breaks, this day. Open, like an egg. In golden strings, strummed as song. … Continue reading →

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this poem

Posted on June 24, 2015 by whimsygizmo

  . this poem is a slight chance, a small glance into a waiting spring. this poem doesn’t want to play or sing or sting or be much of anything. this poem is a ragged piece of forgotten string. this … Continue reading →

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Four Small Slices of Morning Sky

Posted on June 22, 2015 by whimsygizmo

… {I} A brazen bumblebee interrupts the breeze, holds court with low-lying clouds and consorts with our lonely azaleas. The sun is none the wiser. {II} The sky is falling, perhaps. Or sighing, lying itself flat with cobalt glee. Have … Continue reading →

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One for the Nut House

Posted on May 31, 2015 by whimsygizmo

. Oh, how I wanted to boil my hat, a sequence that made no sense to anyone outside my little cherry box. We were all as latelate -late as watches on chains and white rabbits can measure, a slow roiling … Continue reading →

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Holding Court on the Gangway

Posted on May 18, 2015 by whimsygizmo

  . wordled for mindlovemisery.

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