End-All Wind the giant holding our planet was doing yard work today, vacuuming leaves off the trees. birch branches bent backwards over stubborn pine trunks, their pine needles sprung like an alley cat's claws. oak leaves cling to the last few fibers of the mother branch, like spiders hatched: grown out of their gossamer pods. roots cling to solid earth like child's fingers to favorite toys. squirrels scamper for shelter in abandoned woodpecker holes; and if i was light as a leaf, i would gladly just let go...
Great descriptives! very tangible. And totally agree with vacuumed leaves..it was so windy here as well, perfect metaphor.
October Today was a really wonderful read. I could picture the entire scene in my mind's eye so easily. Love it. End-all wind is also really good. You have a great way of describing things and I absolutely love the last two lines. The end just left my mind with so much space to explore. Your pushing perfection. Wonderful. Please keep posting more of your stuff. Peace, A.
(untitled) caged in reticence, iron bars reverberate silence when struck with my leaden screams. futile escapist attempts, defunct Houdini tied too tight, and buried too deep...
your writings are ´real´to me somehow and they make me smile. The image of seeing you walking on a road wich appears very familair to me.... thank you!
The fragile beauty of now, toes embrace spongy moss, each shared word a title page for volumes within.
Revised: (untitled still) clock hands persistent as tidal sway; time lapping greedily at ankles exposed, leaving salt of it's natural emission on the salt of the day's exertions, crusting over, opaque- like the clouded glass hut hiding the tungsten's piss-yellow glow. this is the hour when even wind sleeps, caged in reticence. iron bars reverberate silence when struck by leaden screams. fly trapped in the lightbulb's dome: futile escapist attempts- a defunct Houdini- tied too tight, buried too deep...
Revised again: Alcatraz clock hands persistent as tidal sway; time's lapping greedily at the cliff face, as the lighthouse tower keeps watch over all the island's edges. saltwater staining brick-castle prison walls, crusting over, opaque- like the clouded glass hut hiding the tungsten's piss-yellow glow. this is the hour even wind sleeps, caged in reticence. iron bars reverberate silence when struck by leaden screams. fly trapped in the light bulb's dome, a defunct Houdini- tied too tight, buried too deep...
Beach Bum the street artist, homeless paints palm tree shadows over gritty sand shores his brush strokes sound like crashing waves and tourists stop to watch his wind blow through his sprouting palm branches as the clouds that should be moving are blotted into place it only costs them twenty dollars to carry home a sunny day on cardboard canvas and the street artist, homeless closes crusted eyes and thinks up sea shells in the surf for the next passerby...
Maybe I'm just an emotional mess right now, but this almost made me cry. "defunct Houdini" is pure genius! you keep amazing me.
I like the way I've been able to watch this poem grow on your ever-expanding, talent-laden, thread. Keep up the good work, Peace, A.
thanks kitten, i was kind of an emotional mess when i wrote it, so i'm glad you got that out of it.... and red...thanks for following it, for some reason i just couldnt leave it alone...sometimes i wonder if i should have though, let the ending (the original stanza) just speak for itself...?
Sierra Leone What does a small-town, USA girl do with National Geographic snapshots of Sierra Leone citizens? There is no rebel five-year old with a machine gun to her back; her food shelves are not stocked with mortar shells; the trickle of her teardrops doesn't feed murky pit-mine pools; her fingernails are not dirt-lined or blood-crusted from scratching out their own grave; her body is more than muddy bones and her arms have not been robbed of their hands; she sees the terror carved in fragile skin by diamond-edged civil-war shrapnel, but the magazine always closes before the North Atlantic currents in their sad eyes tug hard enough to pull her under
