Tag Archives: writing on writing

poem crack{warning}

.. this poem may be habit-forming, causing the need to read others, wrestle pen. it’s a gateway scribble, really, that first taste of rhythm-rhyming zen you didn’t know you needed. to breathe. a smudge of sky. a wisp of why. … Continue reading

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scribbling her scales

she tries these wayward voices on for size, pens up and down the ivories to see the light and seize the dawn. she cries when the words won’t come, when they flit and fray and tease her from the shadows. … Continue reading

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standing in the middle of all this deep dark sky

, the world comes at us, fast and fierce and long and loud. we lower our voices, raise our (s)words.   ..  

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Weapons of Mass Distraction

Shiny object, laundry pile, random pic to make her smile. Running squirrel or wayward breeze, playin’ puppy, ruffled trees. Dirty dishes, diapers, kids; Tupperware…can’t find the lids. Kitten purr and yummy snacks, legos loose in stacks and stacks. Online news … Continue reading

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little word freaks

.. we squeaks in syllables, speaks in rhythm and rhyme. we knows how to blows a phrase about in breeze. we sees ourselves as scribblers, ink-dribblers of divine. we frees the words from white, and writes our wrongs. we sirens … Continue reading

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Elegy

{for the trees}  . Forgive us our sins, this ripping of your skins, your purloined pulp our great white hope. You promise much in your alabaster space, force us to face our brightest fears; woo us with the wild delights … Continue reading

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just a lone poem

  ……………………………………………………,  ……………………………………………………plowing snow, finding her way ……………………………………………………………………………………..through the storm.     :: In April, we poem. It’s what we do.     

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a muse, me

, colossal in the awakening of my own un -flat skin, husk ……………………-y voice of silence. these schemes of vein and sinew sky sting a phrase to page, ……………………a transferred why.   .. Prompted by Poetic Asides.        … Continue reading

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where we left off

.. they scoffed at us for swallowing that sun -flower dream, for holding our breaths in the snow. we’ve gathered so much more than loose-leaf scenes; we know these syllables might just stand on their own. and so we pick … Continue reading

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She’s found herself in ink and sky

.. , and silent salt. The squawking cry of hungry gulls. The broken praise of trees. She’s on her knees in dark -est hour, bone-tired and waiting. Forgive her, Father (Son, and wholly long-loved ghost); at most, she’s brave. She’s … Continue reading

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