Insomnia, a sijo

Midnight’s crows crowd the bedroom, perching on plastic picture frames
Their wings sing lullabies, as they crochet their wooly caws
into a tapestry of sleep, black feathers fill my fragile dreams

The Aniseed

a woman found an aniseed

among some withered recipes

inside: recumbent fantasies

Of gray days swelled with ecstasy

 

Fall Away

No one sees the sun the same
some notice shadows     some the glow
floating in between damask curtains
lenses pinpointing the here     now     today
maybe some regard its power as a threat
fretting ultraviolet     infrared     gamma?
mamas mostly     smearing white chemical
wool over the backs of their babies
seizing any chance to capture time but
what their children will do later     wander
     certain days skipping school on beaches
     reserving time in a tanning bed
     red arms blistering after a road trip
flip the safety switches off and
band the mamas who can only watch their all
fall away and hope their children return

 

Constructive feedback—both positive and negative—welcome. I’m posting this early on in my writing process just to get back into posting regularly again. Interested to know your thoughts on the subject of the poem.

Midnight, Away From Home

Tonight the creek sits high in its bed

a wolf howls at a snowy owl

she mistakes for the gibbous

moon (until it takes flight)

as I eat wild sloes

blaming them both—

creek and wolf—

for my

fright

Sweet and Sour

My grandpa slid me a paper plate
of peanut butter and pickle
sandwiches so I sassed back
butter you can’t cook like Grandma
He grinned like a pack
of wolves, dumped it
in my lap
and growled
butter Tough

errant army

the bright soldiers unarm me
brash asters charm me
hardly stable, full of will

their starry lies sigh sorry
frilly gifts mar me
like Bacardi; it’s all thrill

sharpened edges may harm me
your errant army
disarms me, alarms me still

Apartment Full of Trees

Follow me to furloughed
fields, to cities fitted
‘round a sea less salty.
S’there we’ll start our garden.

I’ll blast far ‘neath flagstone
for you; till a trillion
seedlings strewn by starlight;
foster future forests.

This is my first attempt at a drottkvaett for April’s poetry slam. Read more great fiction and poetry by clicking the badge above!

Yellow

It starts
bright as lemons
fresh cream churned to butter
love’s weight in our hands     promising
golden

We stitch
our lives slowly
and dye the joined fabrics
our saffron     turmeric     mustard
future

Fluid
and so fragile
we pack our love away
like a yolk in its shell     waiting
to break

The whites
of your eyes turn
beige in our photographs
head down     arms at your side     looking
jaundiced

No     love
we are cowards
standing in fallow fields
we’re sunflowers in November
ocher

It starts
our lives slowly
we stow our love away
head down     arms at your side     looking
ocher

This is a garland cinquain for yeah write’s poetry slam. Click the badge to read other awesome cinquains and other poetry forms, and short fiction.

*Things are good in my relationship. It’s fiction. Promise.