Napowrimo, Poetry, ReadWritePoem

come closer

read write poem napowrimo day 18 light bulb moments. introduction of a word éclat. your poem should express the emotions that grip you as you experience your “shock” moment; photo: titanium taurus tracker 44 magnum snub nose, Willie Lunchmeat, flickr

dormant lies a secret
shadowy silly story
no one knows at all

a hundred details
big and small sentiments
retrospective reluctance

almost expressed aloud
with little hesitation
but nope not yet can’t

but if you really want to know here’s the story

Napowrimo, Poetry, ReadWritePoem, short story

tabac infusion

read write poem napowrimo day 16 whatz that smell. free write i remember 5 minutes; photo: tabac cologne

 i remember you now a short fuse memory long with laughing eyes.  i remember a particular smell flapping freely near my nearness intimate jello knees. i remember perfect perpetual passion spilling left and right and open skies above. i remember venice picture taking under that famous bridge and st mark’s square. i remember italy sunlight seashore mediterranean blues. i remember etratat the sweetness lingers now with seabreeze swaying cliff dwelling shine and small room rumpled sheets. i remember traveling train switzerland secure within your arms when who they asked do you come from. i remember hot vinjac dreams beneath a cool full moon, a distant view of lake bled castle where whispers wandered willingly when walking romance quiet. i remember now not never the scent of you alone. i remember the bottle now elusive no not never broken.

3WW, short story


three word wednesday: brazen, hunger, nuzzle
photo: little soldier, kimtojin, flickr

discovering the cure enabled one to forego the everyday attempt of simple gestures. dodging dialogue.  acknowledging the frail. bypassing a morning kiss. a nuzzle of intimacy. hello. yes, i know, i haven’t been a lot of here lately. everything involved the cure and there was no space left to absolve his losing ground. the hunger of the hunter never rested. once the sun set it was a race to find refuge from the brazen onslaught of the unseen enemy.

Saturday Scribes, short story


saturdayscribes: theme: failure to communicate; words/phases: consuming wounds prophet
photo: Mike Rodriquez, flickr

on the way to portland
we passed the columbia river
at least a hundred times
back and forth
side by side

almost hypnotizing
windswept waters
shifted the want of talk

the radio station crackled
some dj prophet spoke of love
mysterious crazy love
he cooed as a dove and played
jimi hendrix little wing

the hours stretched
as a white empty canvas
waiting for paint
propped up against
a thousand others

interrupting time
i slept a short while
and while dreaming
tiny little blood beads
dropped with little hesitation
opening and oozing

a couple of old wounds resurface
sang out in acapello a song
familiar yet ungettable
and when i reached out
to soothe the smear
they sprouted a hundred hairy tiny
little funny legs
and ran away

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