Tag: poetry

  • inner

    sage bundles in a pot for smudging
    Photo by Ginny Rose Stewart on Unsplash
    we crawled into
    innerworld
    on our hands &
    knees

    you kissed me
    otherside &
    promised me all
    night

    sage was a'drifting
    stones were shifting &
    flames burned to
    embers

  • outsider

    i am the outsider drifting
    slipstream shifting
    through & through
    a directionless beggar
    desert rags wrapped
    red around wrists &
    broken at my mouth
    open fractured to speak
    i croak & rasping
    thirsty for the dawn

  • games

    Image of a writing journal and a pencil.
    Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash
    always unknowing & unreadable
    her eyes play from the shadows
    teasing & taunting

    forgive me, i am so tired
    of these games

  • red dirt

    a path in the middle of a dark forest
    Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash
    sitting the red dirt
    casting needle bone raw
    hey fox, ho owl 
    what tales do winds tell?

    given to ghost on promise
    tied leather, wrapped lace 
    turning on bright flame
    if the memory serves you
    well 

    sitting the red dirt
    between pine and swell 
    hey owl, ho fox with
    promises winds tell

  • unexpected outcomes

    standing stones
    Photo by Suzanne Rushton on Unsplash
    mad hare, what drove you
    to dodge the night fallen snow
    from here to there and back again
    all dizzy in your frenzy?

    it seems you lost your head
    the large crow said, as he
    cleaned up the mess of you
    left out in the yard behind

  • killing jar

    Image of a writing journal and a pencil.
    Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash
    shake, twist the flame
    dancing on the edge
    give shout and no one
    seems to hear

    becoming flutter
    all wraith and dream
    with a voice gone mute
    and eyes, no longer see

    a history on display
    inside for the killing jar

  • burning books

    Campfire
    Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash
    these witching hour dreams
    what are they supposed to
    mean?

    that chapter has long been
    burned at the stake i cannot
    will it into being

    leave now, o ghost
    so perhaps we can dream
    another life

    where our books no long burn

  • returns

    muscle memory returns, slow 
    fingertips shredded to ribbons
    a smile on my face

  • we stone

    a path in the middle of a dark forest
    Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash
    here we stone
    under her sun
    & feverwarm

    here we loam
    ruddy that leaf &
    deadwood

    here we stone

  • blind eyes close

    Image of a writing journal and a pencil.
    Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash
    gazing hand & shadow
    this bone, this muscle
    untouchable & tiring
    skinstained with night
    painted to stars myrkr
    heavy, they anchor
    a heart sent to slumber
    under wood & gloaming
    a kiss to blind eyes close