the puppy drunk with sleep
in the middle of the hallway
on this wooden floor
while a soft blanket and ticking
clock wait around the corner
miles and miles away
Photo: Dreamstime.com
tonight i know
silence is the noise
of every star
silence drips from the
downspout on this clear
night
its book is open to the
part of a tree that once
held a nest
it remembers the
sound of moon
flowers opening
it may swoon
it may
These Trees
These trees are not mine,
at night they own stars
I thought my fruit.
These trees, my trees,
the ones not mine – can do
nothing now, but autumn
to the ground, begging
that I learn to speak of
endings.
Photo: w-dog.net
Wicker Baskets
wicker baskets
her hands still soft
when he holds them
in the night, he
listens to her hum,
but never says
of mists
for this is everything
a sleeping moon
the dew on
bare feet of
wander on
the never stop
of mists
by the shore
that silence
upon us
that
I have loved
that it be you
*To be read down, then back up.
*May need a large screen.
*You might find you pause in different places when reading back up, giving new meaning to my down/up poems.
Photo: boredpanda.com
Senryu #7
dancing
my dress
and the clothesline
A N T O N I A
A ntonia, why do you show
the men up on the farm?
N ever giving in. Not once.
T ry to be more feminine.
O wen is sweet on you.
N ot to be taken lightly – that.
I think you should consider
him, Antonia.
A nd let down your fair hair.
