Poetry, sunday whirl, wordle


sunday whirl: wordle 227
photo: white owl, autobon society

with winter wings
naked clarity stalks

searing silent echoes
lurking anamnesis whistles

a red river flies
flowing fast and free

wary world floating
a want walks away

towards the open plains
inside the wind blows

small writings….. staring out an open winter window, an image stood clearly of one room full of adventure as if  taking a leisure stroll through one’s life in a snapshot.

Poetry, sunday whirl, wordle



sunday whirl wordle no 219

i swear i know every single one
the familiar flush
the perfect press of weight
just enough to claim quietly

the list is long
written in lovely left lingo
only to share with you who know
know the nexus of never-Neverland

who comes to call and collect
that wilderness wind
who whinnies in whispers
tender time, no threats, breathless talk,

sunday whirl, wordle

light travel


Sunday Whirl: Wordle 213

red wine woman
she sips with hollow eyes
a puzzle piece missing

one winner won
startled she slips
a stinging red stain

watching wearily
hidden heart divine
wicked winner he smiles

chiseled charm abstract
lucid lips pucker
he simply won’t do

stepping through
another open door
luminous light beckons

feckless contemplation
foreign sounds allure
there’s no going back

superior view
she decides to stay
dumb luck stumble

Poetry, sunday whirl, wordle

locked in


it was late, real late
the car broke down
so we had to walk
a long way walk

before long we were at the gate
fumbling with the latch
finally opened, all fret forgotten

carrying the both of us
we staggered homeward
passing the old tree
a sleepy owl suddenly
rose out of the dark night
his wingspan wide with wind

unaware we’re almost there
entwined at the crossroad of way past midnight
the closed space around us opens
unfastened fields that happen to flower
crocus sprouting white snow falling
first day glistening bloom

tiny threads of thoughts and thorns
a captured embrace compose
new found fevor flowering notes
hidden in his late night harmony

turning towards home
the last corner comes
beckoning as singing birds
too tired to press
suicide slumber swift
the feel of far away
the distant steps of mud stirring

sunday whirl: wordle 186