Mama thought everything changed after he was hit by lightning. He swore off the weed, dismantled the still, turned away his fleshy needs, and steeled his will. Now he wiggles his fingers and flexes his arms, and drapes himself around the neck of this favourite guitar – Daddy’s entangled and strung out in love with its song. But he says a vice by any other name is still just a vice, but he reckons there’s no harm in being drunk on a song. . . Written for Miz Quickly’s Prompt Day: 19 “Wish you were here”
From whose knot did you untwine, unstitch and untie, unravel from your vine of thread, scarlet as poppies on a battlefield, vermillion love, lost red button staring back from the snow. . . . Written for Miz Quickly’s prompt: Day 17 “Found Objects”
Poems are not, as people think, simply emotions (one has emotions early enough)—they are experiences.” —Rainer Maria Rilke
THE RAINSWEPT BLUR
We have worn paths to the most forest-deep
secrets in each other’s lives, tree crowns beyond,
reaching up into our mind’s eye – because we know
where trees go and that they are full of wind,
and I carry myself out into the rainswept blur,
into the drainage ditch, and we hurl our toys.
For whatever we lose (like a you or a me) it’s
always ourselves we find in the sea. And I am
suspended in this ephemeral moment,
holding in my hand a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone. .
The players in this poem, include: In a Blue Wood by Richard Levine The Forecast by Michael Dumanis Crossings by Ravi Shankar maggie and milly and molly and may by E. E. Cummings .
Everyone knew when she had arrived; she was a doorer. Opening the door of her car into trees, other cars, people’s knees toppling bikers off their seats dismounting toddlers from their trikes she took no notice of people she’d lay flat on the street, toppled and tumbled reduced to a heap. Everyone knew when she had arrived; she was a doorer. . . .