Tag Archives: the one with all the prompts

Anti-Love Letter

Posted on November 20, 2018 by whimsygizmo

{Dear John, I’ve moved on.}   You might want to sit down for this, oh most distinguished one. By the time you find this note, this mid -night rote, I will be gone, lost among the stars. See these, my … Continue reading →

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Behind Bars

Posted on November 19, 2018 by whimsygizmo

Con -vince me if you can that broken brave is no oxymoron, that we can be swayed toward forgiveness in these silent burning days. That one last glimpse of praise might save us from our midnight sorry selves, our fallen … Continue reading →

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Pick Up Sticks

Posted on November 18, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. One, two Grab your shoes, we’re about to head out into the forest. And there are wolves. Three, four Shut the door. The boogeyman comes out ……..(hungry, quiet) after darkest night. And we just might fool him into thinking … Continue reading →

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Chipped Saucers, Tiny Spoons

Posted on November 17, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. I stop by for a cup of tea and a song, but instead she says We are all a little broken , and I know she’s right, that the glory of us, of this place is in our scars, … Continue reading →

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Beautifully Broken

Posted on November 16, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. Here is where the midnight cracked us, tracked us down and stole our song. Here is where our weary hearts split open, crazy broken on too-thin shattered strings. Here is where the dreams we had as teens (all those … Continue reading →

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Forgive me, Father

Posted on November 15, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.  This glorious disaster, this dark -est hour repent. I’ve grown tired of the privacy of these hol(e)y walls. I shall make of this whole burning sky a confessional, an adolescent lust for redemption, release. Find me here, on bended … Continue reading →

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Burn this before they find us.

Posted on November 9, 2018 by whimsygizmo

  … Midnight, and we’re still here in the privacy of our own raised palms. Please forgive me my mourning glories and my wilted wile. I am weary of these hands, the lands they cannot reach, the lives they cannot … Continue reading →

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This is bigger than a bread box

Posted on November 8, 2018 by whimsygizmo

… , smaller than the sky. Deeper than our darkest hour -glass wishes and sunken-sorry stars. It’s more silent than the chalk dust vanishings of our new found fears. This is celebrated eyelash flutter. This is weary-of-worry will, and all … Continue reading →

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Dragon Slayer

Posted on November 7, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. She’s handed a sword, told it’s the only way. She begs to differ, spangles the creatures in glorious array. They have longed to be exquisite in their own skins for years, tired of regret and tiers of scales that … Continue reading →

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This poem is the loose {change} under your couch cushions

Posted on November 6, 2018 by whimsygizmo

.. This poem is the magnificent mum -bling of her truest heart, a violent stuttered start to some darkest hour -long daze. This poem is tired of all the lies and lines and fragile fine ties that strangle, bind and … Continue reading →

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