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 between ....
hovering amongst
constellations of heliotrope & fireflies
best visible after dusk resting timeless against the violet
it hurts to hold on tight
so with arms reaching wide, the fire of the heliotrope tickles my palm
i stand upon the weathered beams & breathe in
the crisp scent of you
to linger upon this bridge allows the sureness to pierce my skin
and wake the knowing that is my hearts 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

Day #26 : Jessi

a persona poem - a poem in the voice of someone else 

My grand mother's paint-by-number sits upon a walnut shelf 
Somehow I still hear the call & pull from somewhere deep down South 
earth crochet lies idle in a vintage chair weaved plaid 
these walls lean in to tell me such tall tales of what I had 

feathers from Algiers 
pork belly home 
sweet potatot swing-sets 
love growing old 
sureness by the fire
bloody marys at noon 
rain on Sunday 
April Pink Moon 

Solitary I slumber in this ancient French brass bed 
flannel for my pillow — grey dog by my head 
memories flicker bright & then they flicker dim 
of prairie fields in springtime 
wild fates tempest whim 

feathers from Algiers 
pork belly home 
sweet potatot swing-sets 
love growing old 
sureness by the fire 
bloody marys at noon 
rain on Sunday 
April Pink Moon 


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 

Sunday, April 12, 2015

Day #12 : river

In great detail describe your favorite room, place, meal, day, or person. Do this in paragraph form, then cut unnececessary words like articles and determiners leaving mainly nouns, verbs, a few adjectives. Cut lines where you see fit. 

river runs past corn stalk acres reached traipsing wooded banks 
sandy ribboned defined channel cuts through prairie summer 
water ankle-deep knee-deep places murky 
across freshwater winding rushing low cool water washing 
surround skin sun-warmed tan
freckled sky open cloudless blue wide 
childhood current's respite felt languid amongst the swirl 
freedom's call to place wild 

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