Above fields, bright paper planes fly
While dark the shadows dance below.
Like dreams released come morning’s rise
Above fields, bright paper planes fly.
In silence waits the blackened sky,
The final pitch, night’s all star throw.
Above fields bright, paper planes fly,
While dark the shadows dance below.
Beyond the reach of
dragon-flight, maids of Odin
in Autumn mists cry
for fair Honah-Lee
slipped from sight, to vaults only
Valkyries dare fly.
Passing beyond time
and meaning, no longer tied
with shackles, earthbound–
soaring realms golden
and gleaming, far away from
the dark underground.
Today at dVerse we’re exploring the underground.
The first splash,
a drum crash
Tin roof hiss,
a slow kiss
New voices rise,
warbles and sighs,
from beneath the shelter
of tree ferns–
a chorus begins,
to the outback
Another bite at dVerse quadrille #33 – Sound Off!
His smile dies unseen
by You’re Being Served By Eve
though he’s loved her
each lunch break,
in a year full
of lunch breaks–
one more lonely sapling
in a nondescript forest
where he knows should he fall
he won’t even make a sound.
It’s quadrille Monday at dVerse and today’s prompt is Sound Off!
Your flame flickers briefly,
a parting wink,
while some trick of the river
mimics your laughter.
We stood apart at sunset,
lost in natsukashii;
came together in darkness,
to watch the dead pass on.
Your light has fallen now,
beneath the bridge.
First published on Napalm and Novocain, January 2016
It’s open link night at dVerse tonight, so I thought I’d repost an older poem for the occasion.
Birds don’t stop in this town.
I see them fly past, black peppering
blue, going someplace. I’ve given up
dreaming wings. This town
will know my bones. Condoms
sell well in Joe’s corner store – boredom breeds
but breeding’s a trap, a twitch in the smile
of those steel-eyed shrews
who linger late after church.
I walked half a day, out past the salt flats,
after they closed the movie house down. Smoked
the joint she’d brought back from college
when she returned to bury my dad.
I remember how pale her fingers lay
across my father’s hands –
coal miner’s hands, tarred like his lungs;
like this town.
First published in Eunoia Review, July 2016.
Winner of the Goodreads Monthly Poetry Contest, August 2016.
First Place in Poetry Nook contest 101, November 2016.
-blazon after Woloch
My love with her chocolate river of tresses,
Her slow-flowing curls, polished mahogany.
My love with her lips of tequila sunrise
With her milky-skinned sin, spreading wildfire blush.
My love with her hummingbird voice
Her windswept dune song, her soul
My love with her eyes of moonstone and twilight,
Her mysterious eyes of long tide pool shadows
My love with her willow tree frame
With her star-dappled thighs, soft gossamer down.
My love with her lotus bloom tongue,
Her narcotic tongue tracing spirals through midnight,
My love with her deep-desert wellspring,
To which I stumble, broken and parched.
Posted at dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Sensory Play
Although science, with clinical wisdom
declared her not yet a person,
a heartbeat argued defiantly
for a night.
We visit the cemetery —
hands entwined, minds
in different hemispheres,
hearts mangled. In a quiet corner
where the sun lingers late in summer,
where gelid moans soften in winter,
we become broken pieces
of something once much stronger.
Lunacy lives in the full face of the moon,
blood has infinite shades of red. The perfect crime
doesn’t exist. Every contact leaves a trace.
When there’s nothing to gain, people can still be evil;
when there’s everything to lose, people may surprise you.
Occasionally there is honour among thieves.
There are multiple truths, perspective is all. Sometimes
there are only questions. Everyone has a price,
I’m not talking money. Life is unfair. Trust me
means don’t. The sins of one moment can reverberate
for a lifetime. Love is the very best
and worst of things.
For dVerse prompt, May 11, 2017 – a List Poem.