lost poem

This poem got lost
amongst your contours
and the careless wink of your eye
It fell into a daze
and sat dumbly curled
in the corner of your smile
long before it could grip
onto the grain of the page
and make images stain
like truths

This poem is just words
gesticulating wildly
snapping into line
when it wished to be gestures
dancing in the margins
dervishly spinning spirals
boring into your core

This poem is a shivering quiver
of doodles to dispel
the fear I’ve yet again
misconstrued
the space around you
to make it mean more
than the emptiness it frames

farm tales

The well’s depth
was a mere twenty rungs
revealed by a drought
that cared little for coins

The rabbit was strung and skinned
its secrets gutted and strewn on the ground
before it could get the chance
to beckon me down the hole
But its tongue
was close enough to candy
Who could believe in the luck

of the foot that didn’t get away

Double yolks,
a pod of perfect peas
a tomato bloodier
than its skin
a slice of melon
without seeds
gave more wonder
than any handful
of shriveled beans

dredging

This river now runs
Low and dirty as my mind
What won’t flow with it
Gathers behind
Trapping debris
Into piles of a past
Determined to outlast
Its purpose
My thoughts wade back
Through the sludge
Dredging up shards that shine
Enough worth keeping
Or cut deep enough
To make me move on

outlines

A harmless thrill
caused a costly spill
A stain we hide
and secretly reframe
calling it found art
Still we are compelled
every so often to hover above
and read its shape
for omens or meaning
But it only foretells
how time and use
will meld it into the fabric
of the stories we will weave
to cover it
And no one will know
how it shaped them
And how it changed us

threadbare

Back before
you let the rope
around my heart go slack
there was always something
to pull me forward
no matter the distance
or effort

Now it lies limp and frayed
as my intentions
I loop its weight
around my arm
and pick at loose threads
I carry their shapeless form
with no destination
And wonder at the strength
they once had united
and their frailty
in the absence of tension

—-
prompt: calm

bag of fortune

I received a gift certificate for a made-to-order handbag. And i needed it. Though I did love my old one. It went with everything–no need to reshuffle all my accumulated wonders from one bag to another with each change of weather or occasion.
But it was frumpy and distended, frayed inside and out.
So I asked for another just like it..But with some embellishments and added dividers to keep things in separate compartments and easy to find in a bind. Of course this cost extra but I was glad to pay.
The first result was the maker’s
strange interpretation. Garish, too small and falling short of all I asked for and expected. Reluctantly the maker agreed to start again.
This time it was almost right so I acquiesced to make due even with the added cost. The finer leather meant I had to protect it from exposure to rougher weather. Treat it regularly. Lay it on its side when not being used to keep its shape. And I did my best.
Still, its decorative elements started to peel and threaten to fall off if handled carelessly. My notes stuck to glue seeping from the seems. The lining floated loosely swallowing smaller gems. But my biggest peeve is that one zipper that gets stuck when I open it fully. So I must fish in the dark
coming up with wadded tissues and crumpled wrappers instead of the treasures I stash inside.

—-

Fortune sometimes smiles, but mostly smirks.

the price of preservation

The Swiss are covering glaciers
with blankets to preserve them
from climate change
I’m doing the same
with these towering memories

I forego trampling through
to find evidence
or an artefact
worth treasuring
that erosion could reveal

Perhaps on a better day
I will unveil them
and see their splendour
unworn unsullied
undiminished
by my ruminations

For now I fear even a peek
would cause irreparable damage
And all I would find
would be my own footsteps
circling aimlessly

fall

Though it came
without rain or relief
By the end of October
I knew it was all over

Silence hung
like a threat
hunched in a stand off
between the earth
and the clouds

Leaves turned brown
leaning far down
begging the wind
to release them

Birds gathered and scattered
Words ceased to matter
Waiting for distraction
was the only action
of defiance left
for those bereft
of hope and rope enough 
to pull or swing from

Come November
and even leaves
cannot remember
what it felt to be green
reaching for blue sky
as I cannot recall
how or why
I reached for you
Just the hurt and
the taste of dirt
that came with falling

oilspill

My dear little oil spill
you were such a surprise
Though they warned me
you were nothing
but dirt in disguise
I played with your colours
swirling in the rain
dismissing the stain
that would remain
fixed in this place
That everyday
I’d pass this way
to feel betrayed
and dismayed
by all that fades 
over and over again

prompt – shine

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