Saturday, January 31, 2015

The Distractions

The magic is in the distractions.
Show the swan and sleeve the sparrow.
Pluck an arrow out of the trembling air.
Hold high a beating heart.

Take a bow for the front row bohemians.
Blow a kiss to the critics backstage.
Art is a prop,
props are the art,
and all the world's a cage.

55 words for Kerry at Real Toads

Friday, January 30, 2015

Lavender Left



Lavender left
in the crease
of a pillow
scratches slumber's cheek.

But lavender left
in the swoon
of its furrow
soothes the stars to sleep.

For Hannah's prompt at Real Toads

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

War?

War is like obscenity;
I know it when I see it.

Little girls clinging to camouflaged legs.

Scars and stumps.

Corpses, collateral damage.

War

is an obscenity.
I know it when I see it.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Saturday, January 24, 2015

A Girl Is Not A Flower

"The first man to compare the cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot."

--- Salvador Dali
A girl is not a flower.
Flowers are dumb.
Ground, seed, water -
bloom is just what they do.
But, a girl like me or you?

She must say "yes,
yes, yes!"
and topple worlds.

Revisiting Kerry's un-flowery flower challenge for Play It Again at Real Toads

Friday, January 23, 2015

If I, Then What

If I
just let you lie
in your listless logic;
let your sensible sediment
sarcophagus stiffen and fossilize;
let "no" become stone on your lips
and lead weight in your heart;
if I let you,
then what?


Half a Quarrel with unrhymed one iamb lines for MTB at dVerse.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

Hungry

The moon is delicious tonight.
Vanilla with a hint of lime,
time-turned and bottled
in blue glass.
The stars are sugar in my spoon,
and the last

planet is a plum
in the curve of my tongue.
I've orphaned the sky,
but for the sun.

It waits in the hollow of my pillow.

For Words Count at Real Toads

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Retracing My Steps


"Aloneliness" by Totomai Martinez


My pockets are empty, so I retrace my steps

back to the house
that was my mother's house;

back to the sickroom,
now, just a room;

back to the bedside
of a bed that's not there.

I could swear I left it here -

my heart
for doing the next thing.

For Mary's prompt at dVerse