Counting Time There aren’t enough hours in a day to rescue a moth trapped indoors to count the magnolias on the tree to watch the cat meander down the fence line to make a cake from scratch to polish my silver baby spoon to fill the pots and plant the seeds to mend the tattered … More Napowrimo 20/30: Counting Time
It shimmers, a mirage in the desert. It wafts, a curtain in the breeze. It balances, a water droplet on a leaf tip. A miniscule moment that can change the trajectory of a life. *** Prompt via NaPoWriMo.net: Write a poem that reflects on the nature of being in the middle of something.
Open Two Ways A house key lies behind the two-for-one drink special sign between the two of them, glowing in the candlelight, a welcome for lonely hearts or a question mark leaving the gate open for escape. *** No prompt today, just imagination. Happy writing!
Stir the Roux When we’ve finished, I’ll turn off the quiet with the music of pot and spoon, metal on metal as flesh on flesh. Stir the roux. Whole peppers, onions, celery stalks I’ll chop into bits of Holy Trinity, the colors of contentment. Stir the Roux. You will be in that space between awareness … More NaPoWriMo 8/30: Stir the Roux
Six Views of the Bamboo (After Wallace Stevens) I. The gardner marvels at baby shoots as big as her arm. II. The naturalist enjoys the strength of the canes in the wind. III. The environmentalist appreciates its sustainability. IV. The squirrel is thankful for its nest-baring branches. V. The bird surveys the world from its sky-high peaks. VI. … More NaPoWriMo 6/30: Six Views of the Bamboo
“…poetry isn’t revolution but a way of knowing why it must come.” —Adrienne Rich, “Dreamwood” Why It Must Come (After Adrienne Rich) The one great choice is made instinctively, there is no manual no set of directions. The hand-me-down desk has no typewriter or even a pen and paper. The poet needs none of it. … More Why It Must Come
The small parallelipipeds traversed on the hairs of leaves, its casual adventitious body roughening the surface while a hundred armed mites rang’d, breaking one another’s necks. Smutty daubings, engraved by furrows and holes, are viewed as curious writing. Light and shadows are watched through the microscope where the least spot is as big as the … More Bodies of a More Complicated Nature
Without him, a faint image became clearer. The curtain hanging before my eyes, flat and cold, removed. Over me, the jeweled colors appear brighter than they were. ***** So, I worked my own prompt today, my version of an erasure poem. Erasure poems, to me, are too messy – you know, all that black marker. … More They Were All There, Gleaming
What wasn’t: Deliverance Baptismal Secular Miracle A Happy Childhood A Drowning Scene What was: A Burning Resuscitation Conversion A Sanctuary The Other Side of Drowning ***** Prompt courtesy of Greg Santos on Found Poetry Review. Greg suggested several prompts and I settled on a Table of Contents poem which ended up a list poem. My … More Of Little Hands and Feet
Pick a day when the sunlight dances on little red Corvettes and snow in April, when elevators reach a higher floor and you can always see the sun. Choose a day that incites a parade so purple the cells in your body tingle like pop rocks and guitars exploding, feeling proud in the light of … More Thank You for a Funky Time