it’s done.


I’m so glad it’s all over.  Can’t wait to get back to poetry.

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(H)ours


(H)ours

The cup and the bell

 

The warm chocolate

against the sounds

of snow falling

from the tolling

for whom?

The hours honored in chimes

require libation

doctored

to fit occasion,

weather

And whether or not

it’s worth it at all

to call out the next

60 minute

increment.

Happy Nanowrimo


Hope everyone is enjoying Nanowrimo.  It’s almost the halfway point. Here’s a little excerpt from the novel I’ve been working on:

Death was born somewhere in myths much as humanity is/was/will continue to be.  Form was given to state; something to own endings.  A person(a) to bargain with.  From disparate/desperation manifestation arose for negotiation.  Frailty begs always to be given more chances to evade breakage.  Cycles pierced are convinced that prick is part of completion.

An Excerpt from the Northern Elegy


An Excerpt from the Northern Elegy

Springtime dollars

fall to autumn pennies.

Winter is

a Giacometti playground

of limbs on tree-lined avenues

piled with job applications

and out-of-date resumés

as the sleeves

now removed

allow all the aces,

pairs, missing full house

card

to be put under foot

pressed down

acorns

to grow new sharks.

(The gold, silver, bronze medals

of summer

sprint by

unappreciated.)