Lines Imitating Poetry (Book) http://www.Writing.Com/main/books.php/item_id/757065-Lines-Imitating-Poetry/printit/1 Wish-like, white flakes in the night imprint their logo, then nest on the ground, letting treetops peek through windows, to witness exhausted dreams leave ritual offerings for spirit gods. : "Winter" Acrostic. Won Kiya's impromptu contest late last night. (12/17/2011) ...[Read Full Post] Sun, 18 Dec 2011 15:36:48 EST http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/742041 We do not replay errors or hide inside a bubble under water. We do not dine in candlelight or dry ourselves with designer towels, but we make love to our memories locked inside our poetry in a hutch that opens to a desk that opens us to each other. Then, we pass the nights, back and forth, as if sipping beer from the same mug, rejoicing in how...[Read Full Post] Wed, 30 Sep 2009 18:59:10 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/669902 The recliners are senior style reconciling comfort and survival, with covers getting weather-worn under the sun, while they wait by the side of the curb. Do they discuss atherosclerosis, kidney stones, flabby arms, arthritis, and prostate enlargement, and tease the credenzas and the mahogany table with the unsteady leg? Probably, they all...[Read Full Post] Sun, 04 Jan 2009 16:55:31 EST http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/627796 After hearing Sarah McLachlan on Jay Leno last night, which was Nov.13, 2008 You run in the middle of the traffic to ditch men with heads of frogs, refusing to own yourself and what went wrong; although, you'll outlive your pain and the just-too-damn-difficult forgiving of the distances in between. Then, when you come back, you&...[Read Full Post] Fri, 14 Nov 2008 22:01:20 EST http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/618566 Everything grows on me, growing up. To begin with, those story ideas-- shedding their chrysalis, thoughts that sigh--finding no solution. Then, the little boy next door who is a man now, the population of this town bringing poetry and repulsion, and the tyranny of shadows from each day of so many years. My reflection in the glass...so funny!...[Read Full Post] Sun, 07 Sep 2008 20:48:25 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/605919 The ant in the milk didn't go in there by chance. Dissatisfied with its lot, it focused on the spilling universe of white in the glass. How paltry that desire seems now, when the ant is fighting for breath? Luckily, a wooden pick comes to its rescue, from the hand of one who seeks nothing after a thousand or more such drownings....[Read Full Post] Sun, 07 Sep 2008 20:45:30 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/605918 Fickle moon feeds the aloneness in you, shining on flower beds, creeks, waterfalls, springs, hills, crypts, and boulders to make everything sparkle only to lose them in an instant to their shadows. Proud though on its own, just a rock thrust in heavens by titans spuming fire, it lulls you with night breezes to make you shimmer inside w...[Read Full Post] Sun, 07 Sep 2008 18:04:50 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/605895 The way you twirled the wine and sniffed, with a hint of prophecy, reminded me of a man I once loved, as if I smelt the brine from a wave. Then a fog covered my eyes and I docked my boat of antique recollections with an absurd longing. By the time you took a sip and nodded, I was already back in your presence, back from an ocean thrashing ...[Read Full Post] Tue, 12 Aug 2008 23:10:38 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/601620 He stands at the podium and lectures: "Follow the poem; let the poem lead. Love it so, with awe, so it becomes you." Then, he asks: "Are you all strangers or ghosts that you don't know who murdered poetry?" And he points with his index finger: "Was it you? You? Or you?" His gaze rests on me and I cringe. ...[Read Full Post] Wed, 02 Jul 2008 23:49:22 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/594343 Summer mountains, wild flowers circling their necks like glittering gems, conjure up splendor and my aspirations. While sunbeams ripple in clear light strains, I sense a mountain's soft breath surrounding me, for I never lost the wonder for the mountain winds' songs chiming against the blue patches of sky when the peaks, with rhyth...[Read Full Post] Fri, 27 Jun 2008 15:59:34 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/593417 You were there with me when we started, so strong and insistent, but, now, you are nowhere in sight. I search for you under rocks, wear bones and feathers, and do the dance so you come down again like the rains or like the light that shines through the clouds. Yet, you have the shape of the wind and the grit to run away and leave me stranded, ...[Read Full Post] Tue, 24 Jun 2008 12:46:49 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/592857 Two beasts allege my dreams are their territory. One howls, the other horrifies. One runs after me with its revolting pleas, the other whines with unrelenting complaints. They darken my nights with their neediness, one with inexplicable desires, the other with rowdy demands. One beast is my ego, the other my expectations, both stark and sturdy ...[Read Full Post] Fri, 20 Jun 2008 00:06:29 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/592047 "The streets of heaven are far too crowded with angels" Angels left, clicking their bones, their smiles dancing in the memory, angels ignored far too long like the disease with no mercy, like an oily turpentine spill, instead of the cheer they attempted to paint. Angels tall and thin, angels with yellowed skin angels of ...[Read Full Post] Tue, 06 May 2008 19:21:42 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/583674 Roaming What is it that makes us leap into adventures when our legs refuse to move and our bodies have long given up? Is it because we still like to duel with life and deal with eerie, elusive things like getting lost in countless upstate highways when the setting sun blurs the highway sign and we miss the only exit? What is it in us...[Read Full Post] Thu, 01 May 2008 10:42:39 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/582654 Down below From just under the clouds, the scenery on the ground is full of tiny playthings: toy roads, toy houses, toy cars, toy trees, like Lionel train-towns. Everything is so small you don't see the people the weeds, the garbage, the apathy, the foolishness. Looking from the top, from your window seat in US Air, flight 1868, ...[Read Full Post] Thu, 01 May 2008 10:35:59 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/582650 Synchronization Today, spring intones in a soft soprano voice. There's singing inside the new grass, in sprouting happy green, and in the rhythm of rivulets meandering on the window pane. The tune of the first rose, so perfect, one can hardly believe it was hiding inside the bud, and I am too afraid to move away from the window, ...[Read Full Post] Mon, 28 Apr 2008 14:18:30 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/582067 The Pain of Packing To conjure up happy unions between unmatched pieces, I go through my closet my eyes like searchlights. Will it rain, will it shine? Darn this season of changes! I cannot be hot; I cannot be cold. You'd think I'm getting ready for the end of the earth or a trip to Neptune. Folding this, wrapping that, my...[Read Full Post] Mon, 28 Apr 2008 12:54:21 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/582049 When Old Friends Call Their voices rearrange me, invasive with long arms but not counterfeit, so I open my shutters to drag in their freshness. They spoon me up like honey like the tonic they thought I was, galaxies away, but now I hide me. I hide how dried up, how spread-too-thin I am, and I hope, beating around the inflections, my tone...[Read Full Post] Sat, 26 Apr 2008 17:58:41 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/581686 Watching the Current The riverbank has swollen to drown the wayward vine, creeping into its territory, as the end of spring renovates the skin of the earth. A brown scaly branch bounces downstream to meet its insignificant decay, taking with it a memory of the mother tree, and I, with a book on my lap, watch the water pour over the ...[Read Full Post] Fri, 25 Apr 2008 23:09:28 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/581592 Snapshots Bedazzled, I took a few snapshots of a dignified queen palm today, thinking, come late fall, it may not be here, for lack of roots causes tall things to fall when hurricanes arrive, leaving only shadows to tuck away grief for what is lost, inside the eyes. So, in this accidental world, a well-tended tree waving its arms to t...[Read Full Post] Fri, 25 Apr 2008 23:17:14 EDT http://www.Writing.Com/main/books/entry_id/581398