Monthly Archives: April 2017

Day 27

Smear the points into all their colors, striations, streaks, and nebulae.
There you have it. Stars. Swirling endlessly, timelessly above.

In the broken branch one might see the rot, but the roots;
the roots dig in, stay firm. We won’t fall yet.

Silence is a pain only the lonely understand,
yet silence is bliss, which only the lonely crave.

If she was angry about the beginning, maybe
she’ll be angrier at the end, but we won’t know.

Not until it strikes. Would we withstand the wind?
Or fail at the roots, give up the ground, fall with a mighty

and resounding crash. But among stars, this tree in the forest
makes no sound. Not because there is no one to hear,

but because the heartbeat of a star, of a nebula,
lasts a million lifetimes. The light pulse of a super nova,

would not reach human eyes for millennia. Where would we be?
and in that grand scheme, what does it matter anyway?


Wow I got way behind this time didn’t I? Oops, oh well, I wrote a poem today and thought I’d share it. Inspired by scrolling Tumblr during a storm.


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Day 22 – Bucket heads and glow sticks

In one swift stroke, everything changes;
the cut of a cunning blade, and the world ends.
Something begins anew, but

do you know what it is?
Or does one not find out until those who
cannot sit through a third
of an hour have yawned and gone.
Betimes it was, more had the patience,
bedtimes were earlier,
the possibilities more endless, than now.

Mix together strawberries, English,
sleight of hand, and a wary eye,
and you’ve got yourself a story.

I’m watching the original Star Wars series again. Still awesome! The poem’s a bit abstract, but it was fun to write. Enjoy 🙂

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Day 21

What does it mean when the blue jay sings?

That my number is up? But…

Was it ever down to begin?

Zagged shadows would tell our time

If more of the world were literate.

Here comes the curve and click of a lunch well served.

We know just what to say to get a smile.

Look down at your feet,

Count the steps.

Is this it?

All there is to it?

To live, love, laugh, lose, and leave?

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Days lost

Choices given, decisions made,
the bird attacks, plans are laid.
Drain the water, spray the ground,
seal the windows.

Stop trying to rhyme, that is my weakness.
My bane, too much pressure right now.
A day behind, until I catch up,
another day goes, two in a row.

What does anyone think about
in the little death of night?
The past, painful as it was,
the present, beautiful and true,
the future, unpredictable.

What does anyone think about,
in the zoning of the eyes,
in the track
of a hand on the seam?

What do you think?
It’s been a long day,
yet there’s nothing to say.
We’re all a bit more blue than before.

Is this how other people live?

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Day 18 – Happy Birthday!

There she is, elegant as a queen,
lovely from the day she was born,
my mother knows how to celebrate!
It’s the 65th anniversary of the day
she came into the world.
No one believes her, in fact
I hardly believe it myself.

She’s got a megawatt smile,
a refined taste for fine wine,
and good food.
She loves light, laughter, and life.
She is as powerful a woman as
I have ever known;
as bold as she is humble,
as charming as she is caring,
a homebody and world traveler,
writer, dancer, singer,
and the absolute, no joke, best
Mother a girl could ask for.

A day late, but she does celebrate the whole month, and this is just one of her many gifts. Happy Birthday, mother dear!

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Day 17 – Haiku dance

Hazy days blush once

sweet green breezes push petals

sway and dip, dance hands.

Today (April 17) is international haiku poetry day, so in honor of that I wrote this. Also, I’ll mention Robert E. Brewer’s blog. He always has recommendations for possible inspiration. So today he said to write about dancing. This is actually the first poem I’v written this month inspired by one of his prompts, though normally I get an idea right away. Anyway, here’s the link to his blog.

Poetic Asides

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Day 16 – The man from Trickum Street

The man from Trickum street
has never met a stranger.
Looks into their eyes, and the soul is revealed.
His eyes are dark, a mysterious brown,
his smile is easy, his hands warm.

The man from Trickum street
has never known a hardship,
for every challenge is a blessing,
every tragedy an opportunity,
every wound another chance to heal.

The man from Trickum street,
keeps time with a borrowed clock,
loaned by his grandfather when the old man died.
he flows with the chimes;
every half-turn a new journey in mind.

The man from Trickum street.
He knows the heart at a glance,
can only see the bright side of the glass,
lives contentedly on borrowed time,
and believes not in endings, but only beginnings.


So I think this one could use some work, especially the end, but it was fun to write, and decent enough that I could post it. I know I posted twice within a few minutes (If I miss a day I usually try to put two poems in one post), but those poems really needed to be posted separately. I don’t think my Woman of Color would have tolerated a man in her space.

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