Category: writing

  • at twilight

    i invite the night
    to kiss and send
    to drift my body
    down her river flowing—

  • isle

    Photo by Alice Alinari on Unsplash
    to gone to earth
    in the every
    to slip beneath
    the fen in early
    cross the finger
    crest the blood
    twitch at glisten
    of toothsome blade
    cut the stars
    with hands flint
    all fallen
    turn our eyes
    to the island
    apples of the
    reddest shade
    she ivory waits
    in every way

  • wordless

    sunlight shining through old growth woods
    Photo by Simon Wilkes on Unsplash
    those days where words
    lose all meaning in
    a dizzy haze of dreaming
    and fingers trace lines
    of morning dew across
    your pale skin under
    the rise of the sun

  • 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.