Jun 5 2014

bearing witness

i stood in the sun
and watched a storm
circle north
around me

pulling clouds in directions
impossible to follow

thunder rolled beneath my feet
as i stood


planted in a world
refusing to acknowledge

bolts of lightning
ripping through the grey blue steel
of sky’s lost eye

there was no rainbow

but off in the distance

rain reached down
in gauzy
worn-through sheets

someone else’s
dirty laundry

left hung out
to rinse


and petrify




Jun 3 2014

the name of the game

is contemplation

e x  a   g    g    e     r     a  t  ion

the epic fail of epic

on a trip to Misnomer

any other name gets you to the same place

a beginning (seed)

a middle (flower)

an end (pod)

and you can’t separate any one of them from the other

without breathing in someone else’s perfume

crushing stem and spilling life

but you try anyway

again and again and again

and all the words you cannot say

(because i said so)

take root

in the cracks of cement

that line the path you’ve chosen

to pave with your rules

and your yeses and your nos


but all you see is your own


through those rose-colored glasses

of derision

mocking  the singsong silence

of the empty vowel left raining

from the mud-caked corner

of your tongue



Linking in over at dVersePoets for Poetics today,
where Shanyn has us imagining poetry as seed.
Join us!