Poetry, we write poems

WeWritePoems.6 more

i have to speak in such a way
that only you would know

morning glow assembly
majestically proclaims
another fast forward
reminding me to yield

surrogate surrounding cantata
sorrow’s steady soothing steps
tomorrow’s turn tumbling foward
there’s not too many left

the wind flies constant
never stopping once
leaving more than less
dropping dreams design

settled comfortably
on the edge of a crackly leaf
the dew comforts

we write poems: keepsakes like a breathe

sunday whirl

ephemeral eternal

the sunday whirl wordle no 19. enjoy the challenge of a great wordle prompt
we write poems no 69. this week ‘s challenge by amy, sharplittlepencil, created a nonform. Formulaic: 3 + (x) = Poem

a pantomime breeze that speaks
sweeps through the surrounding
transporting a trunk with deep dark dust
(catch the serenity sounds of shadows splashing)

velvet black vessel with velocity oozing
card carrying credentials crumbling canvas
leopard skins and tiger teeth cloister
(growling grins glow graciously benign)

residue relics reckoning a reply
rattling treasures take a turn with truth
wholes and halves orbiting halos take wing
(fluttering feathers finger pointing that way)

a cloak of cool colliding colors
separate into middle matter
puffing pink pudding mist
(too delightful to decipher)

resting at a carrot juice junction
no one makes a move
the swirl of soot lays low
(a deposit of ancient shavings)

napowrimo 2011, short story, we write poems

we write poems. firemaker

we write poems: making fire
photo: sherwood411, flickr
day 6, napowrimo 2011

Fire Sticks

night comes and we sleep knowing the sun will return. before long there is a first call commotion. a band of birds on a branch twittering. connected comes the changing of lights. the darkness disappears and just as swiftly appears the soft sincerity of a rising sun. emerging we celebrate the arrival of light that dismisses the cool air and the delicate nourishing dew brushing against our cold bare feet.

in the very first hours of morning we step right into the warm shining day towards the circle where everything began. there in the middle a few thread bare sticks and the ancient fire maker. he simply sat silent whispering little lightning bolts towards the sticks. prancing as alerted fireflies they alight upon the sticks disappear and before a time fire appears in the rising smoke and crackle. he is our fire maker and we bow in reverence. as a people our fire maker gives our village much.


visible the invisible

we write poems prompt no 42: safe place

barren beyond
this sea and shore
perceive a place where
peace always prevails

far far away
this mind knows not
its about a hundred million
miles north or so
one can hardly conceive

previously unknown
both eyes bare
unbeaten beautiful
a full breath budding

atop a tiny mountain top
perched upon perfection
beneath a big oak tree
tethered leaves aflutter

mindless magic music
mystical sheetless bed
so soft and so simple
my sleepy awakening
unveiled ancient acquaintance

first time found
wide world unfastened
rustic reborn religion
this where never is not

miles and miles away
battery bruised expired
sunlight separated cimmerian
the taste of quiet cradles

tactile comforting wind
cools the melting heat
heaven hugs the earthy heart
melting marvelous butter
imperceptible coat of casualty
is this the freedom prisoners speak about

short story, we write poems


we write poems: conversation between two. any sort of two
photo:opera, sanako, flickr


arrange the setting.
two people.
it’s around early, middle evening.
opera in paris. a wonderful opera.

sharing the evening of passion and pain dressed up lovely. seated in their own, secret thoughts screaming. they do not touch or move. later when the second scene seamlessly pours over, each one emerges in flight, swimming in synesthesia. hinting of a crest the scene burns so brightly. remembering to breathe, air brings back their world. seated separately they never knew what they shared in silent conversation.