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
Tag: poetry slam
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.
