Poetry, SundayScribblings

ss.open

twice turning
the stars lifted their heads
seeking a shoulder
a wall with monocratic memory
holding high all that tarries
barely a spoken sentence
yet understood

would i linger just a millisecond longer held in open arms…. last night’s vision, coming home late the world was a little sleepy and peacefully quiet… a small spell of in between when all those moments we hardly notice come to light…  tired eyes focused on a western sky with an almost full moon, a soft lingering light mist encircles this small wonderful enchantment… and a warm 4 pieces left homemade apple berry pie…
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sunday scribblings 313 reflect

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Haiku, OneSingleImpression, Poetry

moon tide and sea

one single impression: enigma
photo: morning tide, danimal174, flickr

bright white mystic moon
pulling tugging worldly waters
restless constant waves

unbound boundary
intangible sightless strings
guardian shoreline

playful mystery
tempestuous tidal train
sailing sunny days

acres of oceans
salty water hydrosphere
body surf magic

deep uncloak design
below shining fluent fish
never sleeping still

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Napowrimo, ReadWritePoem, short story

curtain call

read write poem napowrimo day 9. your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to use at least twelve words from this list: flap, winter, torch, pail, jug, strum, lever, massage, octopus, marionette, stow, pumice, rug, jam, limp, campfire, startle, wattle, bruise, chimney, tome, talon, fringe, walker; Include: (1) something that tastes terrible; (2) some part (from a few words to several lines) of a previous poem that didn’t quite pan out; and (3) a sound that makes you happy. day 9 was a challenge to complete. this one took most of the day to form and fit a story that was worth revealing.
photo: diesmali, flickr

resisting the warmth of the glowing campfire the willowy walker began his chant imparted from the verbal echoes of the elder voices. uncorking the soft remote, his closed eyes searched the roomy skies pulling hard on the lever of long distance. happiness slowly smiled intrados as his body responded to the rural rug beneath lifting upward acknowledging the familiar strum of his beating heart. detecting the ubiquitous utterances of the sacred tome the talons of time embraced his breath leaving him instantly limp. crossing the invisible the flap of resistance released bringing back his body. awakening to a bitter taste of buried burning bones he knew he was near his resting place. in the clearing of creation he could see the fiery torch of purple and gold leading him heavenward. with a startle of remembrance he began to massage the bruise of last week’s circle dance as the beating drums swam along the stars. hidden in the folds of his memory shuffling his feet along side her who sighs to the wailing white moon he who is soon to be a starry host, polaris.

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pink saturday, short story

post it note

beverly’s pink saturday
photo: missvivien, flickr

there was something left over from our yesterday… i thought it may have something to do with you and what you said. something i didn’t see but you did. unexpected, underneath rippling wet splash

and here now mingling with today there’s that word, interchangeable… later what you saw when you seen the way we wrapped around the noon hour. do you always rise up early or only when the light wakes you?

shall we persist in the tongue barrier of written notes?  it would be much more meaningful if we gathered our sources of limitless language and continued meeting at the noon hour…a few dusty books on your side and a tattered dog-eared page left open on mine

a single sharing of duplicated thought or the invisible lust, plurality of words; listening, we heard the song she wrote in an afterthought of possibilities. something about desire, and finding a way

we can live in kismet now, and later in reminiscing we’ll recall a lifetime of crossing back and forth, only the tide and movement of the moon directing the currency of departure and arrival

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