Friday, February 22, 2013

Dragon

Gumball Shadowscales, my daughter's bearded dragon

I can see the pale root of the candlelight -
birth blue and naked, the feeding hand.
Faces held by imaginary night
hover haggard like moons above the sand.
"Oh, look how he scurries!  Look how he climbs!"
shrill the voices hiding behind steel doors.
Then, under my belly warm fingers slide,
and I'm not in the desert anymore,

but am flying, wingless, fast through the sky
once more to stare a bold knight in the eye.

The Sunday Whirl words for Hannah's Transforming Friday prompt at Real Toads

Thursday, February 21, 2013

French Resistance

The late winter thunder barks German
with a gusty hiss
that sends my wind chimes twisting
Wagner.

The clouds blue black,
and lightening flash
frames the back of the lines.

Time to retreat

to a pillow built barricade
armed with poetry and you

to french
and to resist

till the sturm und drang troop through.

Fiction in 55 words for my G-Man!

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Kitchen Window

Let me build a window
above the kitchen sink
with a view
of the summer of '72.

Mountains in the distance,
hound dogs in the yard,
Papa welding in his shop -

before life got so hard
and before I knew

there was no getting back to easy.

For Words Count at Real Toads

Monday, February 18, 2013

That First Place

We scrubbed and scoured and sage smudged the place
till the ghosts of before us were all erased.

Then, we sock dance dusted the blonde wood floor
and hung some cheap prints from the secondhand store.

The bars on the windows blocked out the stars.
Still, the view took my breath because it was ours.

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Free Verse

These verses aren't free.
They cost me the coin
of confession.
And you, my priest,
scatter wafers
to my obsession

like seeds
of indulgence -
yours or mine?

For Fireblossom's Free Verse challenge at Real Toads

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Seven Stars

Seven stars on a silken string
tucked safe inside my sleeve.
Harvested from a falling sky
and held against rough need.

Stay -
by choice of heart.
Or,
stay by work of my art

binding you with seven spoked stars
and words wailed to the moon.
Must I force feed you affection?
Then, here's a leper's spoon.

For the Fireblossom Friday (form!?!?) challenge at Real Toads

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Third Date

by Joseph LoRusso

She had him

harder than a noose knot apple
before they ever left the diner.
Howling like a hollow tree
when the wicked wind blows right.

She might have been

shallow as a shyster's grave,
but she was deep enough for drowning
such a weak man in her waters
while she stayed safe and dry.

A Magpie in 55 words for my G-Man!

Monday, February 11, 2013

7/8 Of An Inch

When fear visits,
he puts his feet up.
Gets comfortable.
Settles in

to your bones
(shrinking and softening)
and your gut
(riddled with rot)
and your heart
(beat by break)

until nothing remains
but your reptile brain
and your busyness.

Rare Editorial Note:  The title refers to the 7/8 inch of height I have lost due to long term celiac disease.  It can play havoc with your bones.  I am now a 5'6" diva, rather than the 5'7" diva we've all grown to know and love.  If you need me, I'll be out shopping for a killer pair of heels . . .

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Sunday, February 10, 2013

Darkling / Old Suns Die

There is a garden
where blackness blooms
and old suns die.

Where seeds of stardust stilled
hold the last of light.
There is a garden

in the crescent of the moon.
I sheave its shadows
where blackness blooms.

And, last, I tend the darkling child -
as time bends back
and old suns die.

A Cascade poem for Hedge's challenge at Real Toads.  

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Hope Chest

Dignity woven
from summer disgrace
replaced innocence

in my hope chest.

The poorly pieced quilt of desire
barely lasted a night.

When I'm heavy with time,
I explore the lace line stitches

with pincushion fingers
bandaged by scraps
of my pride.

For Get Listed at Real Toads

Sunday, February 3, 2013

Garden

A blood wet thorn shows you
I've been there.
A missing rose means
that I'm gone.

How long
will you try
to deny me
your garden?

My loose latch gate bids you
to enter
and seek the bloom spared
from my shears.

To bring you near,
I appear
to deny you my garden.

Submitted to Poetry Pantry

Friday, February 1, 2013

To My Heart

Wash the dust
from your dusky wings
in the water clock
where every moment brings
another ripple -
a tiny story -

ours.