Wednesday, August 8, 2018

Daily Prose Poem

Image result for lady rushing street


Dash

Someone is always in a hurry, and you can't help but wonder where they are going.  What's more important than taking the time to look both ways before crossing a busy city street near an intersection where the light's gone bad?  What could mean more than taking a moment to scour the sky for black birds wing, a stiff contrast to the magenta splashed with white?  So much rushing toward asinine things, so many pieces of life just trickling away like spiders down a drain.

Monday, July 16, 2018

Daily Prose Poem

                                Image result for vintage cab

Vehicle

Because there's always room for one more, you flip your coin, cash your ticket, check your bags and tip the cab.  And because there's something forlorn about rolling the flesh of yourself atop four wheels across barren city side strips you've never been before, tipsy of cheap bar wine and craving the feel of soft carpeted hotel rooms.  The luckiest traveler is the one who doesn't end the night alone.  Or maybe the most unluckiest is the one who kisses the lips of some desperate stranger in a shady corner, some sad other-worldly person who wants to return to the land of home just as desperately as you.

Saturday, July 14, 2018

Daily Prose Poem





Twittering Stories #1


                              



She was passionate, but she was lonesome.  Plastic handle of her camera strap the only hand to hold.  Her evenings were spent in black and white, 'interpretive colors' she would tell herself as she dreamed of the back seats of limosines, her name on colorful signs, and fine wine.

Sunday, April 22, 2018

Daily Prose Poem



"Typical"

Opposite of the girl with the bright umbrella, handle poised across its handle like the stem of a flower she swirls between drops of rain, their substance more like dew or a delicate drizzle.  Her waiflike figure spins in and out of traffic, bright bobby socks light as air between her steps.  She looks like no one else on the street, tender heart of a child, fingers stained of paint.  I imagine she lives in a secret world only she can create, her unlocked windows absent of danger, her morning tea never bitter.

Saturday, April 21, 2018

Daily Prose Poem




"Chill"

Feet propped atop a table.  Head thrown back behind sunglasses.  Lazy lashes not busy.  A day too boring to gaze into.  A girl so quiet, so aloof that you have to wonder who she is.  She checks her watch, delicately lifts a cup of java to her lips for a sip.

Friday, April 20, 2018

Daily Prose Poem




"Classified"

Contained on the last page of a newspaper, or maybe the back flipside of a magazine cover.  The too-small type with promises you can't quite read, you just drop your check in the mail and await the surprise miracle.  Perhaps its someone's lonesome reverie: single white female with a love for vintage decor and cats, marriage comes equipped with Antebellum mansion.

Friday, April 6, 2018

NaPoWriMo 2018: Day 6

Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that stretches your comfort zone with line breaks. That could be a poem with very long lines, or very short lines. Or a poem that blends the two. You might break to emphasize (or de-emphasize) sounds or rhymes, or to create a moment of hesitation in the middle of a thought.


Here is my contribution:


Postcard Summer

This was the summer
of jelly fish,
clear as crystal;
and of newborn love
too premature
to succeed existence.
But that never kept us
from flying kites
across magenta-pink,
late-evening skies,
nor touching toes
beneath bright umbrellas,
clouds sagging beneath
an early moon, egg white,
and my heart,
or whatever it was back then,
beating in tandem
with the drum-song
of the sea, waves
touching me with their
cool fingers, then receding.

Thursday, April 5, 2018

NaPoWriMo 2018: Day 5

And now for our (optional) prompt. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that, like the work in Translucence, reacts both to photography and to words in a language not your own. Begin with a photograph. Now find a poem in a language you don’t know (here’s a good place to look!) Ignore any accompanying English translation (maybe cover it up, or cut-and-paste the original into a new document). Now start translating the poem into English, with the idea that the poem is actually “about” your photograph. Use the look and feel of the words in the original to guide you along as you write, while trying to describe your photograph. It will be a bit of a balancing act, but hopefully it will lead to new and beautiful (and possibly very weird) places.


The Wintering

I apologize for the lack in all my letters, Spring tip-toed past my window so quickly.  Is October thick with winter where you are?  My mind wonders avenues toward you too often.  Summer skies, air between us heavy of stars, myself barefoot on some random earth-walk.  You know how love is, even when it's gone.  You can't help but untangle how it all went wrong.  How something so meant to be, so proper could accidentally unravel when you weren't watching, like a cashmere sweater on the eve of some gala event and so you're forced to change into a less-favorable color.  Right now the winter has wedged itself between the leaf-less trees.  And the cold emptiness, wherever it came from, is inescapable.  I wonder if its winter where you've nested?  Are your shoulders shaking of cold like mine are?  The clouds here are the color of ice prisms, they carry whole invisible islands across their backs.  The wind is strangely still and I'm wondering if this is how it ends:  my heart rolling across the edge of tomorrow like an old stone.  If we ever meet again I'll ask you about the anatomy of wild dandelion.

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

NaPoWriMo 2018: Day 4

And now for our (optional) daily prompt. Our craft resource today focuses on the use of concrete nouns and specific details, using the idea of “putting a dog in it.” Today, we challenge you to write a poem that is about something abstract – perhaps an ideal like “beauty” or “justice,” but which discusses or describes that abstraction in the form of relentlessly concrete nouns. Adjectives are fine too! For example, you could have a poem about sadness that describes that emotion as “a rowboat tethered with fishing line to a willow that leans over a pond. Rainwater collects in the bottom, and mosquito eggs.” Concrete details like those can draw the reader in and let them imagine the real world where your abstract ideal or feeling happens.



Happiness...

Was a lily pond
surrounded by an ocean
of babies breath,
the wind orchestrating
a series of chimes between
whispering willow eves
and ivy branches;
Easter dogwood bending
a Namaste bow to
such untethered tranquility.
And beneath the skies,
robin egg blue and devouring
the world a rainbow hue,
we bloomed, she and I.
Our twisted roots uncoiling
from the frayed dirt of an old life,
into the new petal skin of one flower.