Thursday, November 16, 2017

Scatter


Scatter

I watch the birds scatter.
Is something the matter?

Are they startled into flight
by some sound or sight?

Or, is this their unique way
to mark the start of a new day?

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Tuesday, November 14, 2017

The Artist Sees


The Artist Sees

the shapes of the leaves.
the patches of color.
the lines entwined.
the darkness of the bark.
the tilt of the trunk.
the painting in the trees.

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Thursday, November 9, 2017

Monday, November 6, 2017

Everything Looks Gray


Everything Looks Gray

There are days
when everything
looks gray, as
though night won't
quite give way.

It's not dark
but damp and hazy,
all the edges fuzzy.
I strain to see but
can't brighten up
the image.

I yearn for a
Kodachrome slide.

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Thursday, November 2, 2017

Morning Calls


Morning Calls

The gull is herald
of a new day.
Throws back its
head and cries out.

What does it mean,
this morning scream?

Is it a wake up
call to others
or the exclamation,
"I'm still here."

The 2017 November PAD Chapbook Challenge is underway. This is the poem I wrote for day one. The prompt is new day. Good luck to all the poets who are poeming and the prosets who are doing NaNoWriMo. Have a fun and productive November.

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Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Ghosts


Ghosts

The townsfolk think the house is empty.

They can't see  
the footprints on
the floors.

They can't smell
the scents in
the woodwork.

They can't hear
the voices in
the air.

This place is filled with
everydays and holidays
and horrible days.

Its inhabitants are memories.

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Thursday, October 26, 2017

Left Behind


Left Behind

The seaweed feels
the tide recede.
It has been left
at the waters edge,
a decoration
on the sand.
It feels the drying
heat of the sun
and the careless
stomps and kicks
of humans.
It can do nothing
but wait for the sea to return
and sweep it up again.

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