For the Back Pocket

Joy: 100 Poems
The Weight of Glory
Faux Pas.
Art + Faith
Walking on Water
Ninth Street Women
Fractals
Pacific Art
The Unseen Realm
Category Crisis
Monster Project

Observations

A familiar space – reflective, uncertain. The delicate moment at the koi pond’s surface, crumbs kissing its face, colors emerging, mouths gaping.


October

The murder lies stamped into the scarred and swollen clay, sawdust pooling like blood. The very arms which ached to dance – downcast, denied by the gale – have been stripped of their baubles. Seedling spawn scattered.

September

The birds abandoned their gnarly post, casting their bodies against the blue – gravity shattered by their silhouettes.

March

A love like starlight – shimmery, captivating, reeling, reveling – aching bewitchment in spite of the cold. A wonder transformed into a blinding streak of passion. The night swallowed me whole. I drifted in her depths.

July

What a perfectly dreary day. I wish I had savored it more. Running down for the mail in the rain was simply fantastic.

June

Soft wrinkles and Southern roads, evidence of frequent travelers – meanders and belov’d expressions.

January

The muddy pigment between expansive future and vivacious past, the streaking blaze in our ever-shifting memories. The yellows and greens and pinks and greys nestled between the setting sun and oncoming night – the twilight, the becoming.
Each moment, though seemingly static and still, is actively becoming the past even as we become our future selves. We know who we once were, the backroads we once haunted; but who we will be is rooted in the moment, the static, the still. That is the essence – the essence of becoming.

December

The shadow blinked – once without thinking then twice with a smile. It stepped from its corner, a generous gesture, but still to be questioned considering the wily flick of its tail.

November

I miss the days when we would sit on the swings, heads thrown back, falling into the sky.