Poetry

3ww.twice_now

privately
i wonder
where is it

miniscule
moments tearing
away horizon’s edge

restless
sounding siren
deviant dwelling drift

grasping
trivial triumphs
traveling neckbreak speed

retrieving
old records
new needle niceties

resting
rock hidden
evergreen branches blanket

nestled
neatly between
ipseity and intangible

the taste of freedom feels foreign and unforgotten. just outside a wisp of wishing near the weeping willow tree whispers. wind’s written sureties surrounded in the gale one hears the stories stilled. 

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three word wednesday: deviant, miniscule, trivial
my every day journal day 8 page 8

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Poetry

benign here

does there have to be a reason
sitting alongside to next across the street

whenever the sun smiles watching the light lift
withered wings appear appeased

writing a word and then another
one sentence starts to sing

fairy forgiven hands slay dishonor
feet walking away from here

another approach turns three times
the newness smells so sweet
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my every day journal entry. page possibly 7. i’ve lost count. day 7.
weather outside is cold and wet with a chilling wind. just the way i like  it.

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Poetry, short story, SundayScribblings

the world is spinning spring page 8

napowrimoo 2011
my everyday journal day 8, page 8

this everyday journal comes in handy at the oddest moments. i began day 1 of the napowrimo 2011 excited with the anticipation of the finish fully loaded for completion. each day embraced soft and smooth as the freshly laundered shirts of my lover. well that all changed once the dawn of day 7 appeared and took off as a fast filly running a renegade herd. all the while i kept up with my two feet doing what i was suppose to be doing. but by noon i had to acknowledge the anchor of my reasoning was sorta sputtering slow quick in an unseen quicksand yanking all thoughts askew. preoccupied with more pressing nothings i just sorta let go in absence and went with the winged current i was caught in. washed ashore there at the end of the day entangled in bunches of tied up empty words going every which way rushing nowhere and everywhere. extreme the exasperation, i let up on the accelerator slowed to about 85 then 50 then to a cruising 30 and pretty soon i was idle. pulling the plug i parked in a peaceful place and i gotta tell you it felt good, real good. a long while later i settled into supine and the sounds of still. it was around midnight quiet outside and the world was sleeping. unhurried i could hear the momentum of universal slumber.

let’s see now it’s day 11 or is it 12? who knows what day it is but i’m pretty sure it’s way past 8. i’m considering picking up day eight and kick start to catchup. a few seconds pass. ok, i skimmed over my options and, nah, i think i’ll just cruise on in my normal haphazardous literary fashion and catch it next year.

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Haiku, haiku my heart, Journal, napowrimo 2011, Poetry

haiku my heart.the sky is open

rebecca’s friday recuerda mi corazon [haiku my heart]
my every day life journal day 6, page 6
day 1 napowrimo 2011
photo: tanya puntti, flickr

White flower against blue sky

panoramic view
lucid light blue naked skies
whisper wanting wind

yesterday.  it is good to let the mind loose to wander and relax. without distraction observe the day passing. looking outward it is late afternoon and the sky is starting to sway toward sunset. now comes the quiet just before the wings of a large bird appears bringing the night with a trail of stars dangling from golden threads. this here is where i stopped. to consider my wanting. to hear the spirit wind talking. he shares his wisdom.

napowrimo 2011. today is day 1 of 31 days of poems. this has always been an amazing experience and look forward to participating in this year’s celebration as well.

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Journal, monday poetry train, Poetry

the sky is telling a story.working for play

what’s the weather like? snow capped mountains cold surround
everyday journal. day 4, page 4
gautami’s monday poetry train prompt no 115
photo: phillip klinger

note to daily journal. when work takes over, the effort to do anything else is almost impossible….unable to write… i wait.

D.R.F.S.B (Dangerously Red Flying Salad Bowls)

there’s hardly a moment free
caught in the trap of wanting
for nothing

wake up working
sunset comes too soon
amusement absent

sleep the deep
transported pursuit
building sand castles
sunbathing relax

transfixed
words of wonder
escape the pen
riding a bull who
bucks and stomps
snorting simple rhymes

8 seconds embrace
letters flying
skyward downward
slippery sliding
imagination

effortlessly eccentric
letters lined up
open congestion
no long empty spaces
hearty distractions

i think i just wrote
something

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