Willow grove bows and nods articulating wind’s whim on which hawk rides, hunts Posted in response to both of the Ragtag Community Word of the Day: adulation, as well as, well, articulate. Thanks, guys and gals.
Tag: poetry
Even Green is Gray
further off, the second bank of trees just shadows, hints in mists, the next bank, only shapes of fog, and beyond that, the unvaried dense of gray. But, even gray, the grass is greener, rain polished clean of drought, it shines, and flowers glow with rubies, golds and blues beside slate paths, bright in the … Continue reading Even Green is Gray
Long walk, looking for the muse Home at last! “Take your shoes off!” She is mopping floors. In response to the RDP word prompt fungible
All morning I wait— blank paper, no poems—on the window are moths, waiting too. In response to the Ragtag Community daily prompt contact
wind-play bows whole groves, but today, just one grass stem dips— zephyr? grasshopper?
Buddha Sits
Today's to-do list— But the wild mustard, so yellow, This sunny chair, warm.
A Man Who Reads Poetry
she says, is my kinda macho -- eyes coursing the bellowing plains of the page like Sythian horsemen, and when I lean to be near, his voice growls wild honey, clenching thought sure as fists on rope, pommel or rose, a wrestler with joy, I’d plunge the tunnels down to hell, for those hands to … Continue reading A Man Who Reads Poetry
On the Trail to Hidden Lake from Logan Pass Visitor’s Center
Under an empty sky and blank rock, a thousand little fragments trudge along a plank path to appreciate what is hidden. Are there billy goat trolls hidden under this bridge to beyond? Something always is hidden beneath or beyond belief. Under the hollow path is nothing but shadow and the clomp of a thousand fragments … Continue reading On the Trail to Hidden Lake from Logan Pass Visitor’s Center
Maria Joseph and the Hills Like. . . .
Del Darlson leaned on his shovel and watched the muddied water burble across the dry alfalfa field. What it murmured he could not say, but he heard the unmistakable laughter of a certain young woman. Above him the clouds unraveled and reraveled the shape of her face, her long slender arms, an angle of her … Continue reading Maria Joseph and the Hills Like. . . .
Of All the Ways
Of all the ways to open— blackbird on post—oke-n-leedr red winging away
