The writing isn’t always on some wall

My spine pressed to the trunk naked limbs above me seem so many baby scribbles - dark charcoal pencil on dove gray now that the sun has gone away. I've moved back from the cliff edge where, looking down, lines of surf appeared to my weary eyes successive signatures in arabic script - white calligraphy …

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Hair

  Nannygoat has tweezered a hair from her chin - [Is that really me? Next will be nanny-goatee!] The event has sent herself to spin in a meadow of sweet memory - wall-to-wall poppies [and pansies and buttercups] paper to hang cheer in a girl's room - whiteground strewn with posies - a cure for …

For Surviving Friends

I have no poetry in me. None left. Vacant as the lot next to the tracks, rivers of shattered glass beside the rusting rivets. Bruised and disarticulated crates. Pebbles, bottlecaps. Tiny tenacious weeds and yellow lichen. But no poetry. Sorry. . .

Cry havoc…

War shivers in the wings - knows the demon springs most deadly on the unsuspecting involved in their trivial petty bickering. Want to promote peace? Want to save the world? So few really want to save the world. Most want only to be THE ONE to save the world! Do you really want to promote peace? If …

Flawless

It would sound Like the old testament If I attempted to recount The generations of the jewel And how it came to Anna - Because it was always Anna’s Even though she never wore it Before the night of her engagement And she wore it on that finger. She had slipped it in his pocket …