Friday, August 24, 2012


                        soul's wing, courtesy of Ella Wilson


I listen to a broadcast
about food auctions
Expired comestibles
spare ribs and cheese curls
whose sell by date
has lapsed
yes, it’s come to this

Who knows
about dreams?
Do they expire too
as arms wither
and language
grows meager

                                        Where there once
                                        was a full larder

The pheasants rose
a family in flight
They weren’t expecting us

returning to the land
that we turn over
every night in our dreams
bliss of vellum
lucid with memory

The pheasants are rising
out of the grasses
A family of them
startled by our presence.
And we are
astonished by the beauty
of it all.

                                         a tail feather
                                         dew soaked

Written for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, soul's wing; Theme Thursday "promise" and  for Poetry Jam, I straddle 2 genres: political and fantasy.

Monday, August 13, 2012

The littered field

Where the edifice loomed
An opaque sky

I am drawn
To it:
The littered field
brash weed, lustre, loam

Furriers and junk dealers
Dybuks and delirium
The most uneasy of dreams

I watch as it all returns
The fabricant world

As sure as
A new foal
Conceived in late night quarrel
Grown in paved rubble.

Written for 3 word Wednesday, “crumble, drawn, uneasy” and Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads