Silence of fingers hovering; scent before her voice in the thorned room of rose and carnation where light echoes all this and every sentiment on glass of window, fluted salute, and wandering specs. Posted in response to the RPD word do the day: patterns
For Ida Woodworth McKee The girl in sepia has turned, arm propped along chair-rail and holds a finger to mark a page she may have read but dreams instead perhaps of romance, of what is surely golden and greener than the moment she faces, as if away from any graying the shutter might make of … Continue reading Two Pictures In Black and White
-Visit mom in hospital -Pick up my C-PAP Those sun lit mountain peaks—so far way
O that rascal with his tassels, his garnishery and frilly finery O, curse the flouncery of his filigree, O, that rascal and his tassels. He wooed dear Gladys with his foppery; with sly coxcomb pompery he flirted his ruffling tassels; with brazen foofaraw doodaddery he pawned on my Gladys castles. With eyelash tassel moonery that … Continue reading O That Rascal with his Tassels
Empty all but pulse and blood from who you are and hope to be. Let drum, whose primal name is heartbeat, prime your pulse. Then walk. "How to Dance" first appeared in a collection entitled Dazed Part of Light, by Lee Robison.
As far as I can see is snow with just the darker gray of rock and, under the mountain fog, the dark of darker fir and pine. and near my window the willow the leafless vibrant brown of willow. A challenge to the Ragtag Community word of the day, iridescence. It is just not a … Continue reading The Nadir of Neutral
When we speak how else break banality to seek why and how the lofted stars are and are not ours. Where else stand naked, hand in awkward hand to know the who of thinking of— the make of making love? How else know the loss when flowers blow or how the now and here is … Continue reading Why Poetry
For every blue, a craving burns orange; for every violet, flames a yellow desire; in every hot heart smolders embers of emerald. And every white hunger ashes a black want.
Snow sifting through thorns:: old couple:: no need to speak of odor of roses.
Underwater liver, hider behind rotted sog logs mover that moves in a quiver from dark water to darker, I lure you with plastic pollywog from water. Avid hand distorts in reach to retrieve you, refracted numbed else thing underwater, touches slick shiver never knew before. You bring so much (not to mind, for mind cannot … Continue reading A Fish