I’d take a moment of joy

you won’t shame me 
into not liking pretty things
like flowers and clouds
I won’t spit
on pencil drawings and cartwheels

a picnic with crackers and apples
and my children
beats a five-star experience
with manufactured art
and emptiness 

so I may have more lines on my face
from laughing
I could give a fuck about being cool
I’d rather take joy
as infrequent as it comes

no peace in machinations or quiet without feathers

"the Wurlitzer"

sweat-soaked spinning 
warding off drought and bad luck
flat tones
irregular rhythms
only laughter en pointe 
let the band play on 

harkening straw hats
hoops restraining legs
bone restraining chests 
fluffy parasols
providing another point of reference 
arrangements play unbidden

"the Wurlitzer"

sweat-soaked spinning
warding off drought and bad luck
flat tones
irregular rhythms
only laughter en pointe
let the band play on

harkening straw hats
hoops restraining legs
bone restraining chests
fluffy parasols
providing another point of reference
arrangements play unbidden

layered metal tames flustered flyaways

gladiolas and grave sites

quietly letting the date close in
when edges show tattered remnants
thinking it has no effect
so many years later
but these things resonate
and remain clear
not faded like a photograph
but vivid in a dastardly mind’s eye
horror and sunlight
gladiolas and grave sites
the scent of midsummer’s decay
swiftly along the river
echoing in a morning bird’s call

wordrummager asked: Enjoying a cuppa on my porch after a storm. The thought that so many people suck and disappoint fades away as the warmth of the tea fills me. I am smiling.

infamouslyroggy:

*holds up fingers for director’s frame, calls for a zoom in, adjusts voice for voice-over* “Tea, for the win.”

You and I just made an ad happen. That made me smile 😜

I love the idea of sharing tea across an ocean. sigh.

to the left of the periphery

breathless and sweaty
calculating odds
distributing shades of evening

tracking

what episode are we reenacting
where we’re left wrecked

pulling

scent of forest
lingering on tongues
disquieting tangible daydreams

Thoughts after a year or so tumbling


I'm not here for the inadequate views 
on politics or religion
I try to scroll sometimes ignoring the avatars
since so many personalities turn me off
The writing… the imagery… the ideas
that’s what keeps me here for now
Poetry was a cold art for me for a long time
until it became resonant and current
here on social media
So while it’s not an ideal system
it is better than the literary flailing I was enduring
before I logged on

"summer storm in the afternoon"sitting on my porchthrilled bones, nerves, bloodsummer thunderstorm violently assaultssun quickly fadestrees bendbirds criss-cross pathsseeking to ride out the storm rain pelting my face, my chair, my toes grass bends beneath the pressureroaring thunder gathers attentionto blackening skies flashing with lightwind carries my laugh

"summer storm in the afternoon"

sitting on my porch
thrilled bones, nerves, blood
summer thunderstorm 
violently assaults
sun quickly fades
trees bend
birds criss-cross paths
seeking to ride out the storm 
rain pelting my face, my chair, my toes 
grass bends beneath the pressure
roaring thunder gathers attention
to blackening skies flashing with light
wind carries my laugh

the clouds slay

so varied are the feels of each shade
with each hour in the sun
she cannot possibly keep up
and even capturing a snapshot is difficult
for how to choose but one perfect moment
in a vast array of ingenuity
when it feels like a work unfolding without her
just standing still is addicting
moving becomes improbable
thought is fleeting with cloud formations
her heart irregularly pumps to her extremities
the air circulates through her
and to try to hold any of it
even a moment that slays
is nonsensical enough to return 

lost in the idea of the morning paper


litany shouldn’t be the first word
after dreaming of lawn chairs in moonlight
the soothing hands of Darjeeling
will never know their path down my throat

tracing scars digitally
arranging the perfect small-talk for cover

screaming sweats silenced in cereal
ankle deep in sugar looking for prizes
turbulence just above bed-level
swaying over the breakfast nook

even if the morning burns
there’s hope in the afternoon ash

palm misreading

already more lives
than the palm reader said
even falling a couple of hundred times

cutting legs on coral
and hands loosening waterfall grips
more lives exist

they were hidden under jolly shrooms
growing in the dim alley
best seen with 3-D glasses
but nuclear monsters keep interfering
signals get crossed
in smoky pubs with Alpine themes

coat teeth with Vaseline to keep smiling
but don’t grow mint claiming it’s exotic
try a tuber filled with sugar

don’t let the stoned read your palm
unless you count years biblically
or height and temperature on an abacus