you are the needle within the crown you are the sharp hair in a coating hoar frost you are a beak’s beaten sawdust on the floor you are the pine’s pollen cast on a spring wind you are the robin egg held safe in a nest you are a shadow cool on sweat dripping day…
travel into that good light
Travel Into that Good Light Dale Schierbeck Down down, travel into that good light Our youth burnished new with the rising day Run,run away from the birth of the night. Tangled in the ignorance of the fight Between a divide and an entrance way Down down, travel into that good light. Good dog, loyal and…
caged
the parabolic light caught by its tail palms surrender to black fire shaded sculptures a caged sun kiss. ∞ Submitted as part of “National/Global Poetry Writing Month” (#NaPoWriMo #GloPoWriMo). Today’s prompt: Day Four: I challenge you today to select a photograph from the perpetually disconcerting @SpaceLiminalBot, and write a poem inspired by one of…
split
consciousness staring into belonging clinging through contrast divided by black crack of winter life gripped sinews bark torn ripped split infinity in a sliver of time. ∞ Submitted as part of “National/Global Poetry Writing Month” (#NaPoWriMo #GloPoWriMo). Today’s prompt: Day Three: Today, I’d like to challenge you to make a “Personal Universal Deck,” and…
little voices
My life wasn’t a path but rather zig zags way finding bridges and holes chasms and cliffs taking only the road that was with courage to step off an asphalt toll highway and move into the shadows across the piled up stones. don’t be silly Nose buried in fantasy I dreamed of a different time…
Stranger in a Frozen Land
I walk as a stranger in my own land frozen a thin layer of ice covers a season left behind — a surface of frozen sticks separate socially distant from the tree whence they were born life spliced between locked out neither being space nor time just waiting for the thaw. ∞ Submitted as part…
Returned
My writing called bring a return metamorphosis answered beating its wings drying the flow a seasonal cycle fall into spring in a jar once of Play-Doh six months an insectarium transformed a living statue a bathroom constant awaiting a vernal spark life parsley wilted dried…
Enter Leo
You are a master criminal a canine thief you’ve stolen the rug under my feet once steady in grief memories you’ve rappelled burgled my bed cunningly chewed through a rawhide safe camouflaged yourself in dirt vandalising my garden my chair my everywhere entwined you in me two…
My Room
My room was a house on fire a room — aglow in the red REM disappearing embers dimming into night It was a room of my own preparation kindling split and stacked over yesterday news papers I’d spark It wasn’t a games room it wasn’t a Sunday afternoon…
A Review of Tomato Bread
pa amb tomàquet a perfectly constructed crust is halved and sliced soft, slender, rustic cracked of Catalan wisdom toasted under the Barcelona sun oiled with the green, fresh garlic august, pungent rubbed into the empty yeasted pores the sharp crumb, boar tusks, peaks of wheaten teeth grate ample tomatoes ripe from the thirsty vine sweet,…
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