Category: writing

  • drift, oh drifter

    Photo by HARALD PLIESSNIG on Unsplash
    slip to dark water
    fatigued of dream
    watching branches
    play with sunlight
    & shadow above to
    drift, oh drifter
    to eversleep

  • unami

    standing stones
    Photo by Suzanne Rushton on Unsplash
    i can't think in strawberry
    so i do not know that mind
    my thoughts are all unami

    fingers to lips to arm to heart
    drifting that ocean storm again
    acceptance of the taste i am

  • smudge away

    sage bundles in a pot for smudging
    Photo by Ginny Rose Stewart on Unsplash
    i root, now
    i sun
    i river oak
    through

    smudge away
    smudge away
    wash away
    stain

    i paint, now
    i slumber
    i stone sit
    through

    i river oak
    through

  • tidal

    Image of a writing journal and a pencil.
    Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash
    how many ways can you
    disguise depression before
    it folds back on you
    like an injured toenail?
    echoes in the pond
    ripple only so far before
    a tidal wave falls

  • all bone at song

    Photo by pedram ahmadi on Unsplash
    i shadow as maiden
    i shadow as lake
    stone waters under
    of granite my eye

    pock and pit
    chip and ash
    fleck and form
    all bone at song

    i blood as my earthing
    i blood as my weir
    catch acorn when thorn 
    at river we heart

  • Campfire sessions — 02may25

    Campfire
    Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash

    A fog had descended on camp. It happens at times and, when it does, the fog reflects the flames in such a way that the immediate surroundings appear aglow but the campfire is quickly swallowed by the thick fog standing a few dozen yards away. I did not expect anyone to find me tonight as a result of being well within the betweens. So I warmed my hands and contemplated the thorns still visible on one side of the clearing: daggered things that would have screamed of a sepsis incurred within hours of being pricked by their sharp tips.

    The weald likes to keep its secrets. I may be the nominal warden of this place, but that does not mean that I know anything more than I need to about the darker spaces within. Of course, if there were need of the blackthorn’s protection, I would find I could slip within the hedge’s folds like a chickadee or wren. The weald protects its own as much as it wards.

    That is when a familiar and small voice spoke in my left ear.

    Hey, they said. Thought you could stand some company.

    (more…)

  • nightwash

    a path in the middle of a dark forest
    Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash
    underwater flowing
    over silt and stone
    rub skin, stream wash
    rub mud, you and me
    make land, this flesh
    make river, this blood
    rub wash, stream skin
    rub silt, me and you

    can't you hear them crying?
    can't you hear their scream?
    flesh and blood and silt and stream
    spirits in the night—

    originally posted 23jan2021

    I am taking a short break from blogging and have scheduled a few older poems to fill up the empty spaces in the interim.

  • stride

    Photo by HARALD PLIESSNIG on Unsplash
    mistwalking the waters
    she strode, one foot before the next
    both eyes set forward
    across that mystic lake
    that raven-haired nyneve with
    her dress flowing back
    flesh pale even against the fog

    originally published 06aug2021, w/minor edits

    I am taking a short break from blogging and have scheduled a few older poems to fill up the empty spaces in the interim.

  • our lady of phantoms

    Photo by Dmitry Vechorko on Unsplash
    were the feral to cast
    chalked white doors
    handprints, handprints
    powder pale worn
    singing us under
    singing us home
    our lady of phantoms
    with one last kiss
    before dawn

    originally posted 13nov2023; the title is the only modified part of the text

    I am taking a short break from blogging and have scheduled a few older poems to fill up the empty spaces in the interim. This poem was originally inspired by the card Mounds of the Tuath from the Oracle of the Morrigan deck.

  • epiphany

    tok tok tok --
    raven tapping on the
    fog filled street

    originally published 22aug2020

    I am taking a short break from blogging and have scheduled a few older poems to fill up the empty spaces in the interim. This haiku is a non-traditional haiku written in the style of Jon Muth, author and illustator of the a series of children books about Stillwater and Ku, Zen pandas.