phoenix monsoon storm
haboob isn’t dirty word
it is dusty though
—Terri Guillemets
words
I sew ragged
Poetry is patchwork —
& only the best poets
can hide all the seams.
—Terri Guillemets
Vein
i bleed words,
ink drops, and
poetry merges —
blackish-crimson
autobiography
—Terri Guillemets
Poetry of spring
Springtime is a poet —
the blue sky its blank page
so vibrant green in rhyme
a different metre for every clime
birds chirping to keep the time
wildflowers yellow, red, purple divine
words dancing on tall blades of grasses
sparkling in the morning dews
no commas the flow keeps buzzing
vernal dashes & blossoming branches
on newly greening verdant trees
refrains whispering in each breeze
butterflies — floating apostrophes
ladybugs dot floral question marks
blissful bees stray stanza to stanza
seeds disperse from verse to verse
continuing a poem that’s never ended
and into summer’s colors is blended
—Terri Guillemets
Non compos mentis
after a few beers, my nouns stumble
and my verbs can no longer talk straight —
O! yes after a few good beers verbs blunder
and nouns fall flat on their faces
—Terri Guillemets
Letters from the garden
An author plants the alphabet — and harvests nourishment, flowers, and weeds.
—Terri Guillemets
Wordcloth
An author, behind his words, is naked.
—Terri Guillemets
Inching along, leaving behind
the poet is a sensitive snail —
wandering along the path of life
leaving a glittering trail of words
—Terri Guillemets
Word altar
An author can be just a writer, but a translator must always be a poet.
—Terri Guillemets
Literary Life
My life is — in a word — words.
—Terri Guillemets