Category: poetry

  • spinning stone

    standing stones
    Photo by Suzanne Rushton on Unsplash
    a twist on a turn of words
    her flower, his hunger
    they spin stone for bottle
    counting crows perched
    high on the live wire
    to see who gives what & how

    his is the spring
    & her seething gives to dance
    with her flair, her flail
    her everything & ghost
    his everything & love

    suspecting the hollow
    of the old trunk
    in the field alone stands
    they spin bottle for stone
    while crows writhe & laugh
    at how the given becomes what
    in seething this spring

  • nightjar calling

    Photo by Abishek on Unsplash
    this is a day of
    desire slips to fade
    and we watch only
    the forests burning

    ”i’m too old for this shit.”
    in muttered underbreath
    “too old for this shit
    by far.”

    flames lead to smoke
    lead to sputtering fuel
    gone damp in the
    marsh of neglect

    nightjar calling at moon
    waving away those
    memories from when
    we were young

  • wither

    Photo by Ronin on Unsplash
    wither of hand
    her pale song
    under white of snow
    gathering round 
    the earth of wood
    as crow calls
    at the night
    of stony foot

  • restless

    Image of a writing journal and a pencil.
    Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash
    awake again
    the night sharp
    against bare arms
    and needles in
    the brain

  • drain empty

    Photo by Abishek on Unsplash
    all drains empty waiting for
    someone like you to fill me

    fox screams at the moon
    while owl waits in silence
    ghost chill on my shoulder
    as you drift through
    feet never touching stone

  • passage

    conceptual portrait of hands with red thread
    Photo by Amirhossein Kianbakht on Pexels.com
    to rest my cheek against thigh
    fingers hair entwined
    waiting for the glow of stars
    to shine and fill me of you

  • Ikkyū quotes

    Photo by Andrea Sun on Unsplash
    nobody knows I'm a storm
    I'm dawn on the mountain
    twilight on the town
    alone with
    the icy moon
    no passion
    these trees
    this mountain
    nothing else
    all koans just lead you on
    but not the delicious pussy
    of the young girls I go down on
    no more Zen
    write one great line
    like a needle piercing
    a sore spot on your arm

    — Ikkyū

  • drifting

    Photo by Janke Laskowski on Unsplash
    needing not to need or
    to be the object needed
    a settle into sitting as
    do stone, moss and tree
    just a drift of fine snow
    blowing feathers across
    the long and open road
    whispers polish asphalt
    under a sun hung low

  • dicing

    Photo by Kevin Hessey on Unsplash
    under twilight longing
    restless and wrench ache
    ever just dreams slipping
    lacuna & moon dipping
    blood for the ash given for
    palms crossed with silver

    time to toss the dice,
    wondering at if
    they come up
    twin death's head moth or
    showers pouring over
    with a sighed name
    on the northern wind

  • at the fading

    black wooden fence on snow field at a distance of black bare trees
    Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
    wisp whisper am
    breath sigh on wind
    crisp and have shatter

    slender parchment thin
    unseenly and obseenly
    ghosting of wing

    tok tears am pale
    scene at the fading
    screaming on howl

    lack beginning