Tag Archives: twiglets

Skeleton Moons in Dark Closets

Crave her. Save her as a nightlight, lighthouse beacon for the sea. Hold her fast between these hanger clouds, the hush-loud sting of stars. Turn that golden knob. She’s waiting.   .. For twiglets.   

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folding, fitted

  morning. i am still listening to the moon. when we cannot find the day’s center, we change the sheets, create a ballooned fort of warmth and clothes-pinned sun. nothing else is solvable or solvent, perhaps. but we marvel in … Continue reading

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shhhhh…there’s only time for tiny poems

and so she clacks a wee small bit of black in the margins. smudge. sway. it is no great secrecy that she wishes for more, longs to store the rest of the world away and shout the things on her bursting heart. … Continue reading

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Dragon Squall

She tumbles until she has nothing left but the rise and fall of sky as breath , and a mouth scarred thick with stories.   .. .. twiglets #97.     

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Not taking into account that cold bone moon

, we walked those paths and chattered on of years and tears and everything and nothing and every -thing in between, amid those ancient rising oaks and gravestones white as teeth.   … twiglet #96.   

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This is one for the loony bin.

Image from Wikipedia.    .. This poem is just one or two steps shy of everything I might want to be. I’ve added stars and salt and sea and sigh -lence and the violet violence of one last sunset. Yet, it … Continue reading

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Mast (Mask) and Sail

I dreamed I was more than moored, but less than Lake. That the shaking of these limbs (this breeze) was about more than trees (and less than song.) I dreamed I belonged to the sea, and that she gave me … Continue reading

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The Quiet One in the Corner Poem

… She hides her eyes behind a stained glass moon; a shadow moving softly in a storm. … twiglets #78.

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language lessons

.. i am still studiously listening to the stutter of trees, the Braille of breeze, and the way these feathered things might sway their song. that moon, she’s a teacher. a preacher. a reacher of stars. a quiet far -off … Continue reading

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sometimes, on tuesdays, we write poems just because.

.. because the rain holds a hush we want to claim; because hiding these bright words under a bush would shame the sun.   .. Twiglet #74.   

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