Tag: #iphone photos
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Per aspera ad astra (A rough road leads to the stars) Oh, darkest secret, deepest fear: I’m afraid I’ll never see the stars Shining again— Per aspera ad astra A little prayer Warm-breath whispered in my ear By the blind innocent within Who believes in light she cannot see
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I have been eating poetry Wildly gorging on it, like it was chocolate, and you know— I cannot keep candy in the house. I’d be fat as a tick, as Mama used to…
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Rivers There’s a river in my November sky— a river of fathomless blue sweeping between ice-crusted snowdrift clouds floating high over bare-armed trees and bare-armed people. My teeth crunch an apple my feet crunch leaves as Monday’s snow melts into tiny sidewalk rivelets. A boy zigzags the lawn hunting acorns he trades for tired smiles…
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Why wait? Why wait for inspiration to appear, surging onto your page like a whitecap gliding over the sand salty, foaming with words Why wait, when outside the wind sings naked trees wave their long arms, even their sturdy trunks sway, drunken Why wait, when the clouds above skate across the cold sky like children…
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Aftermath I feel like a river so full I might overflow my banks for years, so dry, now I am water, falling— falling like the ginkgo leaves, that lie scattered like footprints on the sidewalk, so rain-slicker yellow, they are wet, oh I had such a fever, once I was empty as an old Halloween…
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the start of a poem: driving home from Indiana sunset blazing an orange goodbye contrails crisscrossing the deepening sky speeding through billows of dust from the seed corn being processed by harvesters crawling the darkening fields Pendleton, Eden, Maxwell, tiny towns brick houses, bonfires blazing in…
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Vibrations I read today that four hundred forty beats per second equals the note called “A” I thought of you, of resonance, of tiny ear bones trembling with words of the resounding delight of being heard How the word ‘vibrant’ rings like a bell of poured molten bronze, cast cast like a spell, pure magic…
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I am a leaf, falling, surrendering, I will not cling, like a mitten on a clip— No, I’ll flutter like a bird float through this dizzy blue forever fall freely letting go, or winter will never come and if winter never comes spring will never bloom I am a leaf, falling.
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My poor feet cannot stop bewitched, like in a fairytale, cursed: they cannot stop, so I walk and walk and walk as if my head is no longer in charge as if my heart might burst from beating and beating and beating This golden hour: cresting the hill breathing molten light and air electric between…
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