And do not forget the spaces. When earth’s
Heaviness pulls hard, turn to the spaces.
Their breezes will brace us — and we shall know.
—Cave A. Outlaw (1900–1996), Fugitive Hour, 1950
poems
Seed in the wind
flowers are fragrant metaphors —
happy colors sing “carpe diem!”
wilting whispers “memento mori.”
A January day that lives forever
In my mind —
I’ve tried a million
times to go back
to that day —
tried to change
my choices
begged a do-over
from the universe
I’ve crippled myself with
guilt
sorrow
thrashing the quicksand
sinking in
layers of grief
fighting a sticky web
trapped in
regret-regret-regret
I don’t even care about
my own
broken heart
I’m sorry
I broke yours
Winter sparks
snowflakes fall from the sky
in peppermint perfection —
i kiss you with quivering lips
but cold is not the reason —
you set my winter heart on fire
and keep me warm all season
Grief bores holes
Grief bores holes
in our hearts & heads
like a woodpecker
— peck peck peck
— knock knock knock
You can’t make it stop
Eventually it flies away
— but leaves pits
that never fully heal
Glows & blossoms
The glow of the moon is poetry
The blossoming of flowers is poetry
The blossoming of woman is poetry
The glow of woman is poetry —
and even more so, because
the light comes from within.
Tempus nunquam dormit
Three A.M. is when
all the quiet things
become loud —
the drip in the sink,
that clock on the wall,
our hearts, our minds.
Autumn’s wake
leaves dancing
in a brisk breeze
on an almost-bare tree
joyous at autumn’s wake
they tremble, ready
to be free, to sleep
with past seasons —
dying, they celebrate
the awakening of winter
Flyby
yellow butterfly —
did your wisp fluttering wings
make this springtime breeze?
Embering
glowing electric pink
surges across saguaros
sparking the sun’s burning gold —
colors blazing so wild
the sky cradles them to calmness
with dusky embered amethyst —
and tucks in the sleepy day
with blankets of serene shadow —
Water cycle
to cry is beautiful —
the beauty of one’s pain
leaving the heart
blackout poetry created from Maud Casey, The Man Who Walked Away, 2014
Edwin Markham with book
a thinking eye
but jolly cheek
a furrowed brow
but kindly stance;
the hair of a hippie
and student & master—
the burden of life
and love of wife—but
something perpetually
unsettled within him;
button-up coat over
raw, naked soul—
a book in his hand
and ten in his pen
unedited freewriting experiment, inspired by the “barbaric yawp” scene from Dead Poets Society
Edwin Markham profile
hair like roaming waves of the sea
eyes reflecting the light of heaven—
studious, compassionate, soulful—
pythagorean shiny nose
laugh lines loved into place
a beard that let the cat in
face aglow with manly health,
honesty and freedom
unedited freewriting experiment, inspired by the “barbaric yawp” scene from Dead Poets Society