that's mrs. mediocrity to you

in a garden of barely there
two white flowers stand side by side

heads bent in a soliloquy of prayer

the ground is barren
in all directions

but for these brave soldiers
sent ahead to scout
for possibility

in the rooted dance
of no escape

outstretched arms always almost touching

two white flowers stand side by side
in a garden of barely there

.

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.

you would be my after nest
and every song would contain the name
of forgiveness

the sky would be my blanket
and my window
stars would glitter on my skin
clouds would whisper white lies

hope would never
crack open
sing for supper
fall from grace

and each breeze
would brush my skin
with the promise
of wings

.

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.

.

as if red would change hue by calling it blue

then lavender and lemons could be interchanged

while joy and melancholy ride the same fence

.

roses aren’t always red and blue is a mood

spite is never a flavor but we know how it tastes

the moon never burns and the sun always sleeps

.

blood seen through my skin runs aquamarine

the spider only knows the rhyme scheme of hunger

evening always lights the candle of mourning

.

each heart is the color of refrain

.

.

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.

but don’t ask me
what
i believe in

because my answer
will always
be nothing

i’m too busy

growing

.

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.

there is only the life of it

waking

stretching

holding court with monsters and jesters

jokers and cards

lightdark yinyang goodevil

all run together in the dye
you wash your clothes with

and you serve muddy grey soup
for supper

because it sustains you

but dawn always faces uphill
until you step to the left and

free

fall

into another subliminal sunset

tumbling down

down

down

into a play that shows you the dreams

you’ve already

forgotten

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.

i sit on this stump
in this bland
bullied field
and i wait

for

pink to perform
green to genuflect
turquoise to totem
violet to violence
red to rage
orange to oscillate
indigo to idle

my legs glare white
and the sun
whisper fingers
my ankles

telling secrets
in code
that can only
be read
by the light
of a fireflies’
dream

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.

no ceiling high enough
no walls confine enough

contain me
restrain me

if you can

explain me

i will not falter
in my worship
of your eternity

i will not paint you
taint you
saint you

or ever
embrace you

word keeper
star weaver
wind teaser

mind flight
expansive
wing-teacher

forever’s
cerulean eye

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.

everywhere i go i pick up rocks
fist sized and pocket pretty

glitter bombed and sand scoured
mud coated and water polished

if you come to my house
you’ll find one in every corner

scattered on shelves
ringing the chimney

posing as tchocke and
serving as doorstop

lift the one at your feet and
you’ll feel the mountains

touch the three to your right
and you’ll wear the forest

graze the one on that shelf
and hear whispers of german

all the best ones are hidden
in places i’ve forgotten

the chunk of white granite
i found when i walked out

a dog-bone shaped fossil
holding place for a friend

the almost heart i dug up
from my always garden

hard bits of ancient life
compressed into monument

words and footprint
howls and monsoon

captured in cages
beyond the season

of deciduous silence
and decay

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.

i am
pastel pretty and dark closet rune
bone deep and feather dried
fountain flushed and mirror movement

i am
earth breath and wing touch
hope bare and hollow eyed
fault finder and gravity maker

i am
song sword and syllable certain
scream vague and whisper written
moon hearted and nest addled

i am
moss skirt and crooked finger
open grave and winded future
beaded lover and scramble dancer

i am
the sun that never rose
in the forest of supplication
fleeing the harness of habitude

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.

last night i slept in the forest of persistence
ragged tent and grey-mashed hair rippling
in the breeze of days i’ve never seen

my bed was a hammock of loss and my face
was hidden in veils of regret

but i kept one hand hanging free

at midnight the wolves set their howls
to the tune of a white mandolin

i watched the dance of forgotten flesh
fingers tapping with rapt indecision
and smiled at the harbinger’s dream

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.