Thursday, April 30, 2015

Day #30 : to blue again ...

write a poem backwards .... start with the last line and work back to the beginning or take one already written, flip the order of the lines, edit so the poem works in this new order

original: to blue ...

bring me blue & leave me here ...
to harden
rocked by spray of blue
capable & precise
with absolute bearing
bring me blue & leave me here

where hours & bones
strength & trust collide in the wounded starshine
solitude made fragile by wind &amp
water gloriously unearthed
bring me blue & leave me here
bone-chilled surrender rolling into
sapphire wickedness
aqua infinite
winds warm
smooth water open
vast & blue
to a time under the whiteness of moon
to a time in the bleed of day
earth & sky i have always known
tender amongst the open fields of golden wheat, milo & corn silk

i am a child of the plains & prairie

Day #29 : ritual

a poem in the form of a review 
(Hmm ,,,, so didn't do this) 

worth the price of admission
this pierced lullaby 
cotton cocoon'd invitation 
contrast stark against the tumult of days
what goes around 
comes around 
movement knitted 
sure & static & cooling 
alabastair slumbers 
... waiting 
... waiting 
delight caught between breaths 
the turn of a page 
the only sounds; a soft tinkling of the cats collar as he comes in 
and the call of the midnight-thirty train 
sleep = this late-hour chapter heading 
infused with sharp moonbeams of silver 
a sacred place space of dreams 
drift farther still .... 
sleep becomes a place for the beautifully possible 
this pierced lullaby 

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

another night

driving west.

from the passenger seat
I startle awake 


Venus is there shining off to the northwest 

... for a moment ...
I don't know where I am

unsure of
who I am 



suspend . . .

this bamboo-boned suspension bridge
spans the distance 

hovering amongst
constellations of heliotrope & fireflies
best visible after dusk resting timeless against the violet
it hurts to hold on this tight
with arms reaching wide wider widest 

the fire-burn of the heliotrope tickles my palm

i stand upon the weathered beams & breathe in
of you
to linger upon this bridge allows the sureness to pierce my skin
and wake the knowing that is my heart's cymbal-clapping monkey

it hurts to hold on this tight

but sometimes it's like that

to risk the fall 
allow the suspension of love
to light the way home ......

Monday, April 27, 2015

Day #27 : spring ode

A hay(na)ku consists of a three-line stanza, where the first line has one word, the second line has two words, and the third line has three words. You can write just one, or chain several to hay(na)ku ... 

cooling warming 
days brimming green 

tumble gray 
bring welcome rain 

waking slowly 
smells of geosmin

flowers unfold
reflect sun's sheen 

Sunday, April 26, 2015


how do we rise to understand the crush of land upon land
cracks crevasses
fissures shards
ordinary hours turn to bones yard
no concept really or measure of the grief
distance allows this numbness I think
do we wager
our fortune upon heavens call
do we sink to our knees
do we pray at all?
and who answers the message
who stands in the light
who holds danger away with fists clenched tight
who tenders the wounded, the weary, the lost
to find safe slumbers beyond the days cost?

find its heroes
despite tragedies toll
may dharma shine bright
may solace be whole
an ease for all sorrows
may compassion abound
a balm to a country 
where Holy is found

Saturday, April 25, 2015

Day #25 : of four

A Clerihew; a rhymed, humorous quatrain involving a specific person's name ....

Daisy Norma 
beautifully shining karma 
a son nigh July fourth
his name won't be North 

James Stewart Bertie 
a tad flirty!
sipped scotch straight up 
from Waterford cups 

Clayton Lee Leeper 
a time-traveling keeper
sparrow caged 
wisdom's sage 

Prince Huckleberry 
catching sparkle-merry 
content in sun's daytime
Ahh ... to be a canine!! 

Day #24 : Party Colors

a parody or satire based upon a famous poem :


Colors live between red and blue--
in a land where votes seldom ring true--
But thinking your right isn't everything--
for colors bleed and colors sting--
and colors fear and colors war--
Turn on your brilliance and colors soar--
and they make you feel every wrong can turn right--
from the grumpiest grump to the sparkiest sprite--
And you and you and I know well--
each has a history and each has a smell--
and each has a wicked fable to tell...

Thursday, April 23, 2015

Day #23 : 'do not seek to really know me'

Take a deck of cards ... any cards, shuffle and pick one. Free-write for five minutes without stopping, then take what's written and create a poem. 

as long as there is one cup standing 
nectar full in this half light 
one cup standing 
crescent moon's night 
there stands a chance 
a spark of hope's romance 
to shed the fable 
to reveal the able man 
winged & wounded 
sieved from soul 
winged & betrayed 
half not whole 
my darling Eros who knew
beyond shadows slumber 
it was you .... 
in moonlight's pale 
incandescence unveiled 

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Day #22 : life on a minimum maintenance road

a pastoral poem 

tethered to earth 
we bind to our life 
often we're fooled 
to pursuits more divine 
arguing with gods
our pain and our fate 
we long to make sense of
the weight of the ache 

here on the dirt road 
life just shines thru 
dust on our lips 
sky overhead a deep azure blue 
here on the dirt road 
love is everything 
youth is a fable 
the wind knows your name 

plum bushes bloom 
in ditches defined 
pink & white blossoms 
(the jam tastes sublime!)
milo & coneflowers 
ditch weed & broom 
sunflowers & aspargus 
in this quarter-mile prairie room 
a thousand head of cattle 
graze on fescue & rye 
cranes swoop off the river 
filling the sky 
horses peer nonchalantly 
from oak avenues 
there's a haunted old church 
with ghosts in its pews 
wild iris unfolds 
in the afternoon light 
clover clusters in hollows 
held bittersweet tight 
a meadowlark's song 
escapes from a nest 
the moon rises up 
to compass the west 
deer come to fields 
thick with willow & elm 
evening drops its blackness 
stars overwhelm 

but here on this dirt road 
love just shines on 
dust on our lips 
pale blue waits for the dawn 
here on the dirt road 
life is everything 
youth is a fable 
the wind knows your name 

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Day #21 : stranded

an erasure: taking an existing text and erasing words, while leaving then placement of the remaining words intact.

                                       For          the loveliest     the saddest
                                            drawn    one          time                  
                                                                               then disappeared
                                             Look                         carefully      be

                                                     to pass by 
                                                          Wait               under the star!
                                         questions        know               this 
                                                                         let me go 
                                                 Send word 

Monday, April 20, 2015

Day #20 : savoir

a poem that states the things I know ....

I know returning Sandhill Cranes mean Spring 
 ... the pewter darkness of clouds bring thunder
what lives must die
I know the rip of broken hearts sunder 

I know the timeless April breeze 
... the smell of my fathers cologne 
I know the taste of you on my tongue 
that the sun on my face means home 

I know the deep magic bound in a book 
... that music fuels my soul 
what goes around comes around 
I know how sorrow takes a toll 

I know the wicked weaving of knowing 
... the rush of cool to hot 
I know the firework love of a child 
that the price of love is sought 

you know this rhyme is an ouroboros 
forever chasing the true 
just as I'm sure I have it 
another known fragment comes through 

so I'll close before I linger
before knowing is cheapened by more 
the only thing I know for certain 
knowing is an open door 

I know the beauty of simple things 
... the light of the sun and moon 
I know that love is the everything 
and that the cranes are gone by June .... 

Sunday, April 19, 2015

Day #19 : ssshh .... راز

to write a landay; a 22-syllable couplet, generally ryhming

give me a man of warm heart and hand 
knowingly tends open each blue ache understands 

piercing my blue veins of stubborn skin
with curiosity and rye whiskey dreamed sin 

not to be gamed controlled by your will 
but tended tendered by sure hands topping my fill 

surrender eminent pink shine breach 
no call to calm violet borders caging my reach 

take this man to your gods shining bright 
tuck me to spring's hallowed bed this waxing night  

Day #18 : Parallax

a poem that involves an urgent journey and important message 
( I intended to go rogue and just write in the moment but my moment was sort prompted by a journey and there is a message!) 

it rounds the corner at lightening speed
i am thunder years behind it 
counting ...
one mississippi two mississippi three mississippi
three thousand years away
i have missed the boat
missed the point
let go of the ball
no runs no outs 
no sighting of halley's comet 
no rabbit hole 
no bull by the horn
no skipping the light fantastic 
the ship sailed
chickens have flown the coop 
elvis has left the building 
.... with no inking of lines about the twilight & tail lights leading me home 
passing storms radio romance the smell of wild iris trains and rain 
it's escaping running away to join the circus the rodeo or outward bound
while wearing a jaunty moss green beret flipping me the finger flying backwards 
turkey vultures circle to pick up the hat and pick word bones dry of related cosmic matter 
rejoicing in my return to felted silence 
fuck writers block 

Friday, April 17, 2015

Day #17 : call to ink

a "social media" - style poem ,,,,

too much in-put no out-put stasis stunned by the float of information too much too much never enough time never enough #ticktock#norestfortheweary#eatme#drinkme#readme no sink to sinew no hyacyinth fingers dripping dancing anxious with the need to write write write words to life to breath these parceled ink fragments aching aching for the carousel ride carnival ride top-down car ride pony ride under moonlight the furthest damn thing from tweets and tinder give me midnights over a thousand followers over the updates and notifications give me solace from the doldrums of too much in-put give me my muse calling at mid-day as blue jays echo through the neighborhood give me 
a simple white page for ink and memory .... #writeme #openme 

Thursday, April 16, 2015

Day #16 :the nascent hour

write in the form of a terzanelle: a hybrid of the the villanelle and the terse rima, consisting of five three-line stanzas and a concluding quatrain. lines and rhymes are chained throughout the poem, so that the middle line of each triplet is repeated as the last line of the following triplet. 
any meter, or line length but all lines in the same meter 

past six o'clock in evening's pewter dim
near ninth & chestnut church bells chime
to the south south-west spring storm"s brim

rain taps a welcome to potted lavender & thyme
thunder clatters stars amongst the gray
near ninth & chestnut church bells chime 

quiet rumble borders day's edges fray
rain fills the silver hollows of the road 
thunder clatters amongst the gray

rain fills the silver hollow of the road
green earth waking at the tap
sweet rain the oak tree bows 

folded spring's flowers water wrapped
sunlight dimmed at twilight 
green earth waking at the tap

we await storm's quickening cool rumble 
past six o'clock in evening's pewter dim
sunlight dimmed at twilight
to the south south-west spring storm"s brim

Day #15 : Ode to that upper left corner

a poem that addresses itself ....

you've been a bit illusive
there within 
a challenge to capture the corners
of your essence-edged skin

but late last night while driving
 I-80 heading west
i felt your knot of always
in the upper left of chest

remember when i found you?
in a Boulder coffee cave
nag champa, weed & cambrics
you were hiding with the brave

there was something vaguely easy
recognizing where you belonged
i tucked you deep inside me
as Ginsberg spoke his song

we've always had this companionship
born of darkness cracked
you spoke from deep inside me
i held the ink to task

sometimes you came harder
striving to break my pale skin
sometimes you dripped like honey
i knew my muse would win

competition is his forte
challenge & wisdom his shine
i savored every moment
though you're never truly mine

so, last night i felt the bubble
a dart, a glimpse, a spark
of your daring silver presence
while driving in the dark

you leave a taste of cherries
there upon my tongue
the air smells of ginger-lightening
it has since we were young

so lets not play the game
of hide-n-seek this way
i know you glow inside me
in dark and light of day

so come when i call you
illude me not my friend
allow the words to tumble
this poem now to end

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Day #14 : dialoge of June's soul in April

A poem that takes the form of a dialoge 

discontent this chartered course 
mornings rift my soul-weary
lazy this daybreak 
the hollow filled with machinations of remorse 
sun .... 
and need echo the call of spring's feathered things 
silently leaning into wanderlust & wings 

solace thoughtlessly stirred
in a cup of licorice-peppermint tea 
by small hands tendering the hollow from sternum to bone 
pulse cradled by a well-read copy of bird by bird 
bestows equanimity's fate—surrender's sign 
rising to movement in three-quarter time 

watching the wounded's fear balloon with ire 
my dialoged fool's shame 
slipped in shadow's rabbit hole 
with death's smell of less and sorrow's indigo fire 
fire .... 
warms the ache, lulls the intellect to slumber 
clenching fists in dark folded thunder 

hours held in soul's endless chatter sure-of 
colliding in night's moon parting shine 
petaled story—petaled light 
measured in the open weight of love 
oh beat of heart and being! 
the song of spring's feathered things 
contently leaning into wonderlust & wings 

Monday, April 13, 2015

Day #13 : 30 years

A riddle poem - this should describe  something without ever naming it ... 

ache cuts thru every hour 
throwing the line out to still quiet waters .. no bite, no tug 
this duet, this singular exercise 
equanimity found folding feathers to bone 
turning pages to the beat of my own heart 
glass walls surround circle & cling to this company 
companionship tinged in shades of blue & gray 
where silver lining is found inside the burnt ring on my left hand 
what hurts more than this? 
where the verdant moss grows under this solitude's shadowlands 

Saturday, April 11, 2015

Day #11 : warmth of a day in April

A poem in Sapphics ~ quatrains whose first three lines have eleven syllables, and the fourth has just five. There is also a strict meter that alternates trochees ( a two syllable foot, with the first syllable stressed, and the second unstressed.) The first three lines consist of two trochees, a dactyl and two more trochees. The fourth line is a dactyl you followed by a trochee. 

Once a dream of arms sure of self shining fast 
down hallways of varnish rose brair'd in spring 
in this blue day of winter's prose of farewell
find me full of light 

west wind shatters plans and the hold remains true 
to the yellow-gray pulse of the sound of bees 
and where shall this song of waking be best heard 
there along moon's ghost 

once a dream of matter and the hue of hope 
sat upon the bones and weeds of this garden 
green to yellow leaf wonder born of fearlessness 
find me still in light 

Friday, April 10, 2015

Day #10 : Ci < green

abecedarian ~ a poem with a structure derived from the alphabet 

gypsophila grams 
jasper's justice 
melted mass 
quantumly questioning 
shining suns 

Thursday, April 9, 2015

Day #9 : of goldfinches at noon

a visual poem 





                                                   feathers quivering 





Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Day #7 : copper perspective

a poem about money 

Once when I was young, I fought with my father about my college education and the value of his money, the obligation to attend with an eye to the outcome; the promised wealth of a traditional degree — the one true reason for being 
all the while sitting in some 5-star restaurant with my father and then-future husband 
I protested 
raised my banner boldly 
for experience and the wealth of knowledge over the welter of wealth
over that strident traditional orient of future wealth 
I fled in a baked-alaska of emotion to lick 
my wounds and heal in the solace of my own company. 
Once when I was young 
I was lying in a hospital bed 
mortally wounded,
split into a thousand pieces 
when my father saw me for the first time,
he cried
he held my hand 
he called me his always bright and shiny penny. 
I could not protest
flee nor lick my wounds
only surrender 
to his winged promise to heal in the solace of his love 

Monday, April 6, 2015

Day #6 : Aubade

an aubade - a mondayish morning poem 

shaking off dreams of suspension over impassable rivers
... and goldfinches 
morning drifts in with smells of rain and restlessness 
a small-brown-dog lands upon the tumble of blankets to pull the waking along 
soft clothes 
fire lit
coffee warm 
gray domed haze sets apart the cardinals
from the ashen bark of oak
japanese maple branches tremble
under the weight of the retreating moon
with breezes shaped
from the wings of sandhill cranes 
blue jays scold  the absent sun
before raindropped-windows
i touch the edge of regret and the fallow of these days 
the dim of this day pushing pushing against these pale arms 
gravity trumps the attempt as possibility becomes found in the spaces between 
feather and familiar 
rain to robin red 
slumber to dawn's wonderwaking 
day waits 

Sunday, April 5, 2015

#5 : A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart

an unfamiliar Emily Dickinson poem - all dashes and line breaks removed, creating one big block of prose with lines rebroke and words added 

Intent upon the vision of silver latitudes unknown there gathered from the gales and carried it to God this dusty heart espied a tattered heart tenderly took it up from toil the angels happening that way lead the wandering sails that ebbing day then sat it down to rest there flowed to the west nor noticed sandals for the barefoot nor noticed night did soft descend nor constellations burn do the havens by the hand a poor blue heart 

Saturday, April 4, 2015

#4 : 790-666THz

a "love-less" love poem the expresses the feeling of love or lovelorn-ness with the traditional trappings of that subject matter 

spectrums end lies true
at once both low and high 
myth of rising dominance 
secret myth abides 
solace cloaked in antiquity 
ambiguities fool to play 
upon the shoulders respite 
piercing sorrows bones of gray 
light becomes the cutting 
song becomes the tale 
single moment rising 
amethyst prevails 

Friday, April 3, 2015

#3 : eclipse

a Fourteener - fourteeners have any number of lines but each line should have fourteen syllables

almonds swelling bursting as ripe cherries upon the tongue 
as thirty-one thousand sparks fire dance to a song of drums 
entwining and binding in three-quarter time pinwheels spin 
a strain a note of lowing cello moonlight on its whim 

time spinning inside to out rolling skipping turning once
at once both slow and ponyfast pressed naked to the touch 
blue magnetic knowing dancing 'cross fields of yellow grain 
coming to Led Zeppelin we dash to catch the electric train

time means nothing/everything held within the luscious fuck 
seventy thousand sparks carved exquisitly by hearts luck 
pulled taunt the thread released pulled to the pop firework snap 
'till we chart this place of skin mapped by mercurys ink breath tapped 

bone to bone we lay honeysuckle furrow to shaft sage 
rising breathing beating faster bewildered assuage 
to surrender surety transcendent alchemy 
in separation self suspends to sacred agony 

release of silver salt mercury to burnish mornings bloom 
pain and magic temper the fresh sage scent of witches broom 
objects sharpen colors shift to narrow as the burn recedes 
oddly beautiful the ridge of wound the taste of glass and apple mead 

time tumbles stumbles righting and aligning back from collide 
taste of ash and beat of gold linger golden slumbers tide 
time stood still while tender wrapped in threads gossamer kind-of
veiled path charted dreams a thousand steps better than love