3.01.2015

Perhaps Go With Red Instead

Winter blue begets blue
as seasons change, so too
those who question color
reject red, embracing blue

Blueish wind hangs back,
on notice from those who
wait on springtime zephyrs
to blue up wallflower blues

Who am I to question use
of blue as metaphor for blue
representing another stage
blue belaboring all that blue

Flash 55 in the Imaginary Garden: Color

2.27.2015

Silver-Tongued

Winter
blue begets blue,
metallic warms to black,
pregnant & revelatory
Color.

Music in the Imaginary Garden: Gillian Welch & David Rawlings, Time (The Revelator)

2.23.2015

This Week in Poetry

C’mon over to the Thirsty Mind in South Hadley, MA on Wednesday and warm up with coffee or tea and some spoken-word poetry! Gonna be a fun evening, for sure. Hope to see you.

2.21.2015

Dependency

Explaining
my love for you
is like describing
how a vowel glides
to a diphthong
there’s no explanation
it just does

Diagramming
our love as a tree
would be trying
at the start
by extraneous phrases
antiquated pedagogy
unredeemed

Trailing
like ellipsis
clauses lain doggo
for a preposition
at last deemed
perfectly punctuated
by you

For Michael/Grapeling’s word-list prompt to the Real Toads: ABSENT

2.18.2015

Gelid

A season fraternizing
with gallery ghosts,
red-curtained brooding
means seashell-iridescent
skyshine shocks,
suggesting beach-balm breeze
and a promise that bitter
might actually end.

2.15.2015

Winter Affirmations

You said
head north to go south
so we ringed the fingerlakes
in a blizzardy fever
staring straight ahead in case of deer
crossing

Plastic bags waved in maple branches
translucent
like rice paper
or prayer flags
rice noodles searching for cucumbers
seasons away

You said I love you
as we approached the river
numb
considering the currents
still rushing under layers of ice
and my inferior vena cava

If we sink
there’s a supply in the trunk
canopic jars especially for afterlife
but keep my heart intact
true north
promise

For Karin’s prompt to the Real Toads: (Hopefully) Promising

2.07.2015

Ways of Looking at the Snow Moon

Read a book aloud, observing
the space between words

A long hair in the shower looks
like the Madonna and child

Peek in on your sleeping daughter
blanketed in snowlight

Oncoming traffic headlight stars
are maybe moons

Globe of frustration
behind your eyes

Lost baby tooth,
canine

Still light
at 5:30

(With apologies to Wallace Stevens.)

2.01.2015

Love on a Desert Planet

Don’t put a cactus shirt on a mannequin.
He likely will resent you forever,
certain to develop a prickly sense of humor
that would spoil any friendly endeavor
you employ.
Too busy being angry to enjoy
love sooner,
he’ll resist your touch, still
wondering whether you’ll try again, and again
doubting your intentions, sharply, until--

Flash 55 PLUS Kerry’s super-hard word-counting Robert Herrick stanza.

1.31.2015

Realizations

Appreciating paperwhites
lanky window-angling before dawn,
creeping awareness of cold.

Turn on the heat,
radiators immediately seep lavender,
inviting an old lover to visit.

Struck with desire
to lick Italian cooking-class splashes
from the crooks of her elbows,

Futility comes up with the sun.
You stretch toward its light,
remembering the cold.

Inspired by Hannah’s prompt to the Real Toads: LAVENDER FIELDS

1.27.2015

She Wishes By the Seashore

Recitation
echoes unwise
undone alone
abalone
unknown pinkest
surges cresting
not best but most

1.23.2015

Cowgirl, Interrupted

You can feel
the bumpy rhythm
of the carousel horse
in your teeth
her low moan
in your clavicle

Giddyap sister
let’s bust these poles
& skedaddle

Out beyond
the grassy sighs
of home
to wide open hollers
sprinkled with a few
frustrated hearts

You are
so delicious
get along, little--

50 words for Mama Zen on the subject of HUNGER

1.16.2015

Mail Delivery in Harsh Climates

The mailman
brought
your letter

Shut the door
against
winterday blue

Contain
the inevitable grey
of your words

Wind sharpens
black ice
to cleave my breast

You say
you don’t love me
anymore

For Fireblossom Friday in the Imaginary Garden: WINTER

1.14.2015

Oh Dammit

Thought me a haiku
committed to memory
promptly forgot it

1.13.2015

Making Wishes

Hang on to Sunday’s
mysteries woven in the blue
of night sky and golden honey,
ablutions like specks
suspended in beams
of gauze-filtered sunlight,
just floating there.
And Monday’s workaday ache.
Hold on to every day,
because ghosts come faster
now, waving your immortality
like gauzy flags, or shrouds.
Everything could change--
today’s melody quaint and tinny,
if you remember it at all.


Late entry for Grace’s challenge to the Real Toads, inspired by the poetry of David Huerta. Thank you, Grace.
Sharing on the Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden!

1.09.2015

Phantom Clutch

On the whole, heated seats
for manual transmission
seems an even trade. But my foot
still reaches for the clutch
when Charlie Chesterman sings
about that shabby dress,
when turning right on East Street,
when I drive in heels, when I feel
the heat on the back of my thighs
and allow myself
to think of you.

For Corey’s prompt to the Real Toads: ROAD TRIP

1.08.2015

So-Called Haiku #48

My haiku's busted
scrambling after syllables
all over the floor

1.05.2015

Post-Holiday

Wondering whether
all our tomorrows travel
fast like yesterdays

1.04.2015

This Reason Trumps So You Can Ignore the Rest

You’d like to run off
but objectively compelling reasons
make you stay. Kids, for one thing.
They seem to need a stoop
from which you holler for them
that it’s time for dinner
so get your ass home and wash up.
They seem to need home base.
Otherwise you’d be outta here.
Also, the cat.

Flash 55 for Real Toads, in memory of the G-Man, Galen Haynes.

1.02.2015

Daybreak Over Chicopee

Pink
line
between
    cloudy grey
& hematite grey
    constitutes earthly boundary,
aspirations too other-wordly
            for mortal hearts.

1.01.2015

It Will Be Happier

Give up seasonal mirth
for a cheap approximation
if it’s all you have.
A parking lot brawl will do.
Reduce your lover
to a shadow of what you had
like last week’s recycling
left curbside
for someone else to pick up.
Already you’ve forgotten
nights when the bottles were full,
when you got drunk
on her,
how it felt to be seen.
She’s last week.
Tomorrow you’ll go invisible,
park your car the next street over,
walk the extra block.

Susie prompted the Real Toads with this quote by Alfred Lord Tennyson, from whence this poem sprang: "Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering, It will be happier." Best wishes for the New Year!