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
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.
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