hand-carved figures
moving through routines
drinking, working
and working while drunk
fighting devils and feeding
the destitute
like miniature saints
so small three may they fit in
in the palm of a hand
their desires must be tiny
their furies microscopic
their fears miniscule
if only i could shrink
i would welcome my boxwood skin
though i would be forever
frozen in one moment
Tag: poem
Open Mic for June (20160604)
Time for the monthly Open Mic Invitation.
JUST DO IT!
I admit that I wasn’t great last month. I only added one reading. What kind of example am I making here?
——
Here are the steps you need to take:
- Record yourself reading one of your own works.
- Post it on your site (or Soundcloud or any other audio hosting site).
- Include a link to this post in your post
OR Comment below
OR or send me a message using the contact form. - I will post a link with your name and poem title RIGHT HERE and on the new Open Mic page (it’s above in the menu).
- It’s an open mic invitation. NOT a challenge.
Also, if you can think of a way to improve the format, I’m all ears.
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Crow wings of ash (words and audio)
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Poet Rummager aka Rose Buried
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Graceful Press Poetry aka Jennifer Swans
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Crow the eternal hum (audio) and (words)
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this summer evening sees no stars (20160603)
this summer evening
sees no stars
set into the night sky
perhaps an eagle took them
on silent wings to line her nest
this summer evening
or the man who cannot shut his eyes
buried them and now he
sees no stars
or rather than theft, is it the rippling
golden expanse of laughter
set into the night sky
——
for
Jane Dougherty Writes
Poetry challenge #33: Silent cascade
the escape of air (20160602)
you are my paper
i dip my fingers
deep into black ink
write words
on your skin
new words no one
can pronounce
except as a low moan
at the back
of the throat
chasing after air
long since escaped
anger (20160601)
i can speak of anger
fluent in hard words
clenched jaw
balled up fist
tight-lipped mouth
that allows no human words
i can speak of anger
sudden blindness
urge to wrap your hands
around a throat
around the neck of a bat
and swing for the cheap seats
but instead
i will whisper to you
of forgiveness
that soft feather
brushing against your cheek
and beg for the same
——
metamorphosis in red (20160531)
pain paints a soft portrait in reds
subdued in whisper-light silk threads
(cover us in dark cocoon)
what will appear? we dare to ask
while tugging at the silken mask
(the texture ruptures much too soon)
flame emerges to clear the way
swept out like dancing sparks of day
(we shame the sun, we shame the moon)
with wings of midnight, ashen eyes
we make ascent to starless skies
(dancing again to pain’s red tune)
——
for
the secret keeper
Weekly Writing Prompt #39
| PAINT | CLEAR | DARE | COVER | DANCE |
circus (20160531)
three rings in a circus
with no one cracking the whip
three rings on three fingers
but who is steering this ship
the lion-tamer’s lost his head
he misjudged the lion’s maw
the clown should have stayed in his tiny car
he’s trapped beneath a weighty paw
i leave my seat and shuffle away
dragging my shoes through sawdust
these performances ended years ago
leaving nothing but haunted rust
——
blank line (20160530)
your hand is covered in dream
wet protein
all a body needs
running down
your finger
to the curve of your wrist
i dream of tracing that line
with my tongue
licking it salty clean
but you’re already
washing clean
of the whole affair
on the blank line sign your name
trace over the letters
written before
with your hand
——
bones (20160529)
count the bones
twenty-one
white and glistening
polished and shining
these are private bones
these are bones
that have never seen a graveyard
they clack and rattle
they tick like a clock
groan (20160528)
squeezed out like blobs of toothpaste
our souls worm their way across
plains the color and texture
of spent charcoal briquettes
leaving slimy, intersecting trails
where they have touched other souls
all of us too heavy to lift off the ground
too much gravity or too much sin?
is there a difference?