#smallpoems #poemsofpresence Sol set on our son's 9th birthday Twilight hasn't risen stars still out of reach like normalcy shrouded behind a crochet purple jumper pulled loosely over the canopy seeing leaves awaken. Their clocks stirring in an inevitability of hope kids winding down as birds beckon last call I close the journal and head inside
#smallpoems words unheard in touches of smudges as fingers dance both singer and thinker bisexual particles pouncing on partners of opportunity in typical but invisible lunacy of love bouncing on hymnal voices of hues moisten alloys and joyces in flexible lines pf visual verse pinnacle of trivial chalk dust trails which unveil miserable masterpieces in crust
eXplore depths of shallows by twisting toothpicks into eyelids of tidal pools a sojourn for crustaceans who can claw into deep crevices of truth swimming' below your cracked carapace #smallpoems
Dandelions pop in such hurry petals stretching seeking needing to lick lips smacking from our sun Like Me creatures of creative fury and fire unleashed we burn in fields of fallen desire #smallpoems #poemsofpresence
Once more I bathe in forest floors sun filters upon carpets of damp green clumps clinging to stone walls marking truths that no longer matter stretching in directions to forgotten pasts #smallpoems #PoemsofPresence
a sweetness carried on wonders and worries of May's winter wind nostrils swim in scents still lingering. A friend who stayed too long, taste missed desperately when gone #smallpoems #PoemsOfPresence
Total silence only found in constant chatter of falling rain answers glean in puddles atop unfurling leaves hiding the spring's truth #poemsofpresence #smallpoems
#smallpoems #clmooc Not day today not a normal day in the day sense of way when knowledge of day knotted away A Cold rain in Many May see snow Saturday So I tucked away Found my rock dog shat chased me away saw a tree decided to stay shaved a pencil to write a poem graphite broke wood splayed So I read instead About a submarine in the Cold War heyday until r
Flames bent on borrowed embers opaque passion passing in swirling patterns of fallen ash Lost truths now lit smoke curdles and claims moments of reality fleeting into yesterday's future #smallpoems
Black draped ribbon lay shadows bare in time spinning still dirge of stolen futures cemented in past shadows casting light on a journal splayed open closed to her clock's hidden whispers #smallpoems
#smallpoems I slip below depth of possibilities and drown in broken realities stolen crowns in vocal fealty to token histories woven in unspoken ties beneath me. Concrete feet who seek to sunk a broken lung painted in lead of lost hope
#smallpoems #NaPoWriMo #clmooc Do histories relish in future's unwoven strings as tomorrow comes encroaching on today letting time unfold on wings of a Clay Colored Sparrow taking first flight New life nestled against shrubs needling our soul Every year sparrows seek the trees for a first, second third chance at destiny Today, nest is bare, pale grey birds,
#smallpoems My fingers root in gardens of meaning dirt of broken half bent souls collecting under chewed and cracked nails Knuckles ripped caked blood and mud congealing in folds of forgotten feelings Grasp of realities prance, Br'er Rabbits cultivating reside of reason through the toil of soils in stolen time embroiled in rhizomatic seasons ready to coil at
#smallpoems Creatures lay dormant tucked in fetal position claws scraping on sinew of your soul until drips of Dionysus's residue drip past broken realites an encrusted eye opens and it begins devouring and dancing upon time's imagined future
#SpecualtiveEd Sit not Sentinel, staring wantingly at gatekeepers A Snowball of insignificance Sit not Sentinel, stoutly, in cardboard ticky tacky structures long past shelter, shackles of hope and promise Sit not, Sentinel, cheering a changing of the guard Instead strike flints of Speculation to spark wafery-thin papery perspectives into Endarkend Dreams of
Bout to walk my son, the youngest, bucket in hamd down to the crik to collect water to flush the John I should probably write a poem about this.. Someday, what happens with the third Kid. #smallpoems
#smallpoems #coronaschooling Yellow and orange buses snake our hallways generator's hum keeping time My back creaking laptop my only heat crouched on floor cramped in son's room Eight Note March assessing his clarinet playing on our shared hot spot the wifi, not the computer in my lap
bats hang empty crying for the fence stitched leather of routine gathering dust discarded in cardboard boxes undreamt globes spring nights silent No quarrel of two struck lovers driven to meet so destiny can tear them apart #smallpoems