Water, you would say to me, is God and kneel to touch your lips to water and water softened soil and with your ever thirst suck deep within you the body and the blood of the only holy you could will your love— I have never had Another and will not. Though I sup at … Continue reading Irrigator’s Prayer
Here in the silence, the smoldering dark, breathing the smoke of smothering, the odor of smoke and grave earth mingling, he moves his ocher wand. The bull is earth and mind. His terror at what he makes is less than the joy, much less than who have just left mother above to find this bull … Continue reading The Shaman in the Cave
She prays: “the rainbow— It's the full promise of god!” He sniffs the wet earth. In response to the Ragtag Daily Prompt word: petrichor. And the Word of the Day Challenge kin .
Snowing. Grass stems bow the only sounds: hissing wind And last summer’s chime
To empower a writer show them the Oxford English Dictionary, steal their grammar text book, and fire their spell checker. The good ones will manage regardless; the so-so will do fine; and the bad ones will fault out.
Lavender, scarlet, emerald or sky mottled blue! Or (if you must purchase white) mother of pearl. I’m tired of pea office green and deadly plain suits I don’t wear and am belittled for not by insinuating, superior, Misses, Mrs.s, ms.s, madams, misters, and sirs who snoot and practically sniff (unless they’re assessing sallow or black). … Continue reading Birthday, Christmas and Father’s Day Gifts: Some Advice
under this lonely moon bemused by a solitary goose 'wonkg'— wanting the perfect V migration
Late. Aspen leaves rustle shake glints of harvest moon— GeWongk of geese fades south. In response to the Ragtag Community WoD: panoply
Forgive me, eyes, I’ve scorned the dusky mesas, salmon and orange, miles from anywhere but sky. Forgive me, ears, I’ve shunned that sky closing in, chuckling with thunder and tittering half the night like a crazed old shaman who scatters vermilion and pollen among pottery and whiskey bottle shards in the rocks in the hills. … Continue reading On Leaving New Mexico for Civilization
She bends her bones to fling them high, a gawky graceful, nearly flawless dance, but the stodgy Envies snicker why slipper pinches will one day wince a cry against the hour she donned them just to dance, she bends her bones to fling them high. Spare no worry on the gargling sigh of those old … Continue reading The Child in Toe Shoes