I’ll have to admit, the stress of losing the toenail on my big toe via medical intervention was worse than the reality of it. Just in case anyone wants to know about the experience in case you experience s similar situation.
(more…)tidal
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 fallsTo like, click comments or:
tidal
Threefold returns
Photo by Cornelia Munteanu on Unsplash All that you give returns threefold, or so they say.
Or they used to, anyway. I do not know if that still holds true. Sometimes it does not seem to.
The world has moved on in a lot of ways. Maybe such concepts just refuse to stick around anymore.
I do not know.
Laughter. That uncertain, awkward laughter one uses while scratching their head and looking down at their shoes. Are those my shoes? I suppose they must be. Heh. Alrighty. Hello shoes.
I seem to be staring at my shoes a lot in life. Awkward laughter and all.
Trees… They do not concern themselves with these things. Nor do big granite stones.
And they do not have shoes to awkwardly laugh about.
I then give myself to the wisdom of trees and stones. Perhaps I’ll grok at least some of the things yet.
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Threefold returns
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 heartTo like, click comments or:
all bone at song
Campfire sessions — 02may25
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.
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Campfire sessions — 02may25
nightwash
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.
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nightwash
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 fogoriginally 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.
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stride
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 dawnoriginally 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.
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our lady of phantoms
epiphany
tok tok tok --
raven tapping on the
fog filled streetoriginally 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.
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epiphany
Break
Thank you, everyone, for all of your support on this site — I really appreciate it.
I know that everyone is used to seeing multiple posts from me each day, so I wanted to put it out that I plan to take a day or several off from posting new material. I have hit a point where I feel a need to do a bit of a digital unplugging. Clear my head, redirect. That kind of thing.
My absence isn’t the sort of thing that should be construed as I may have drowned in the bathtub… As tempting as it might be to do so at times. Or to do to me.
The nice thing about doing so is that I should have some time to explore and focus on an old creative commitment I made a while back that I never got around to working on.
I might post some “ancient history” poetry in the meantime, from that time where I originally made that commitment. I’ll note the original post date and if I’m made any significant edits when I do.
I’m looking forward to seeing you in a few days, give or take.
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Break
