iron sand (365 pieces – january 6)

will o’ the wispi shall call itthe dancing black ghosts of a sand handful tossedinto the air, caught on winds from afarsee how they tumble about with their sisterstogether, then drifting, then formless, now gone sun warmed shadows beneath sun warmed feetand altogether too hot to handle how the dunes rise and falland riseand fall again, shuddering sand castles brought to their kneesby pounding feet trailing towels and supposed lifeamong these bleached leavesthe heart of these small mountains and the seaand the cliffsand the skyand the fernsand the estuary    (a moat to keep the wary out        … Continue reading iron sand (365 pieces – january 6)

a city in shades of grey (365 pieces – january 5th)

that is all the rain-world knowsa palette tainted by torrid prosebut still, that’s the way it goeseven as erotica draws to a close the world still shines in shadesof grey, not fifty, but thousandseach nuance painted by another hueunlimited and endless /  then the sun breaks through and all the shades of greyare turned to colour and to lightuntil time comes when day is doneand blackly falls (twi)light   (not my finest work… i also wrote a shockingly awful sestina today, but let’s not even go there. but STICKING TO THE PLAN.) Continue reading a city in shades of grey (365 pieces – january 5th)

labyrinth (365 pieces – january 4th)

I will pick my path around pilesbuilt tall from trees once tallerbut still tall enoughan end never in sightwords covering every surfacenone could comprehend them allthis number recurringnine seveneightnine seven eight in starlit bookish nichesinching scavengers bending nightinto several broken nocturnesinside, such blissful nonsense. nine seven eight / you’ll never be lateyour friends in the pages will wait and wait and wait. Continue reading labyrinth (365 pieces – january 4th)

hospital haiku (365 pieces – january 3rd)

on ward thirty two needle in my savaged arm watch a bruise blossom how the rain falls now poems for the soul that cries every waking hour this is infusion my arm is a-lure-ing and meds put me to sleep taste the bitter pill feel the clammy summer air give up / write haiku air like coffee grounds a mind full of similes and disinfectant Continue reading hospital haiku (365 pieces – january 3rd)

january 2 (365 pieces)

january 2 she likes to think she’s representing the every-woman the one hollywood had her believe in who wept into tubs of ice cream and didn’t know what to believe in it’s sorbet, because here too she’s part of the disaffected lactose-free city slicker generation but she digs in the spoon anyway, cold lemon kisses looking at the opened bottle of champagne one glassful gone, the rest remaining, fizzling out between the well-intentioned exercise dvds the giant christmas-gift chocolate bar the pine needles on the floor she doesn’t know / she isn’t sure what she’s supposed to be celebrating for Continue reading january 2 (365 pieces)