everything would
be all right —
from the ashes
hope was aflame
blackout poetry created from Rafe Martin, Birdwing, 2005
terri guillemets
composed by yours truly
Pinot noir
Wine, she serenades me
with her first fragrant glass
purring plush purple poetry
Tra la la la la, tra lee!
She dances in vinous metre
in a second fermented flute
trilling tipsy-turvy tunes
Tra la la la la, tra leee!
Sip slosh, now she mumbles
bottle buzzing on pour three
a faint intoxicated harmony
Tra la la la la, tra leeee!
02:00
two in the morning
mind humming from the inside out
thinking about how much I think
blackout poetry created from Jodi Picoult, Salem Falls, 2001
Selves
A philosopher lives in your mind,
a lover in your heart,
an alchemist in your soul.
Scars regard
A scar is a prayer of gratitude for that which remains.
Posy
Look! over yonder
what a beautiful
field of wildpoems
Sofa
I long to be close to
where your beating heart
was among its last beats.
I sit on the couch where
we spent your last night —
but cannot bring myself
to be on the cushion where
life was fading from you
and you lay against me.
I didn’t sleep, for vigilance
you didn’t sleep, for pain —
so tired, so dazed, so lucid
so knowing, so loved —
so gone.
Flex-ability
Sometimes you just need to be open to the universe’s alternate plans for you.
Feuille morte
dried crackling leaves
though dead
are never quite still
Flux capacity
Nature and wildlife
are gradually vanishing
like in the photograph
from Back to the Future —
our future is vanishing too
but we have no hundred
and thirty horsepower
gas-fired time machine
to go back and fix it.
Reclamation
I tried – to marry Happiness –
but he Dumped me – at the Vows –
he sought – a Sadder Heart to lift –
and Left me – for someone Else –
so I Hitched up – with Solitude –
and Honeymooned – by Myself –
INFj autopsy
the autopsy will find —
coloured flowers in my grey matter
still-beating poetry in my heart
unspent ink in every organ
blood saturated with love
bones mineral’d by life’s rough days
muscles fiber’d by courage and fear intertwined
and a slightly crushed but glittering soul
Pressed flowers are still pretty
Age is a gradual steamrolling of youth.