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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OneSingleImpression, Poetry, SundayScribblings

bellowing brook

one single impression: river and sunday scribbling: the call
photo: jg in sf, flickr

Gorilla gorilla #4

gorilla gotcha, he comes and goes
splashing water everywhere
hairy highlights big tufts of wild
the air too full to breathe

carving a canyon course
simple stream sublime
beating arms out stretched
he hollers and roars

where does the witness go
further downstream dip
scratching tales on sandy banks
a racket of recorded reasoning

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haiku my heart, Poetry

recuerda mi corazon. skimming water

rebecca’s friday recuerda mi corazon [haiku my heart]
photo: bluesky, cubagallery, flickr

Blue Sky

with a little poke
push forward

strong stir of sorts
soft and simple

arousal unwind
unrestrained wander

slippery stillness
uncoil the knot

swayed by stars
crashing chimera

calming cacophony
comes the eerie echo

a time blows by
when we weren’t watching

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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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short story, we write poems

opus

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

Opera

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.

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