Word Wabbit

Wallowas http://wp.me/s20hDN-wallowas

Ancients scrape the sky
peal gray from lazy clouds

Chinooks blast their boulders
Laugh while pebbles gasp.

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NaPoWriMo (Day 11): Morning flight

NaPoWriMo (Day 11): Morning flight

Hostile crows
Shred thin peace
flap black wings
like steel batons
smack hard
against the burlap sacks
toss dust against the sky.

Passengers in trains glide by—
the morning flight.

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Almost seduced

Almost seduced

Almost believed

Almost consented

Almost agreed

To your dreams

In your realities

To your ways

To your ambitions

Forgot my own way

Forgot my own dreams

Forgot my own soul

Forgot my own worth


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NaPoWriMo (Day 10): Shattered

NaPoWriMo (Day 10): Shattered

I feel like a glass that’s been shattered
Nudged from life’s table by a careless elbow
In the middle of my kitchen
Jags the edge that loves Russia
Under the table
shine my dreams of the moon
My inner child kneels among the sparkles
Frantically mopping

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NaPoWriMo (Day 9): Butterflies

NaPoWriMo (Day 9): Butterflies

My ideas are like butterflies,

And I am a lazy butterfly catcher,

Sitting dazed on the banks of a river,

No pencil or paper,

Gawking at the canyon

at the waves

at the sky,

I’m not even looking for butterflies

Instead, I’m watching


It’s dreaming

that saves.

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Fallen Swan

Like an apple on toothpicks,
The elderly ballerina
Tiptoes across the yard

Finding the pond
She asks
The dark waters
For their old reflections

Like a duck
She submerges her head,
Draining away
The makeup
And the years

Emerging as swan
She swims the shadows
Echappe, pas ballonne, glissade

Across the years
Across the algean floor,
Freeing dreams
Of Barishnikov.

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NaPoWriMo (Day 7): Potato

NaPoWriMo (Day 7): Potato

My grandmother
now dead
walks around
in my mother’s dreams
Only twice
has she come to me
The first time to ask me a question
—I hesitated—
The next time I saw her
She was sitting at the dining room table,
pealing a potato
like nothing had happened.

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My response to Ted Kooser

My response to Ted Kooser

First, I would have him be old, white-haired, but sharp-eyed
He wouldn’t walk with a cane, but he would walk slowly,
Burdened with the knowledge of his years
He would be tall, straight and powerfully built
And I would wonder what he had looked like when he was young
I would regret that we were born at different times
Would regret that his life was nearly spent
And most important,
I would never…

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Dreams can seem so real

Dreams can seem so real

I dreamed about you last night
Christina was there
But it wasn’t a dream about her
—Although I miss her too—
No, you were the star of this dream
As it should be
Well, I was there with someone else
A dandy in a nice vest
We were in some nightclub in New York City
You were holding a bag (Baggage?)
The dandy wanted to go off and dance
I let him
You approached me
With the bag
It was “designer”

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Palm Strong


Love this poem by Zouxzoux.

Originally posted on Zouxzoux:


Held to Earth by fiber and root

Palm leaves contort in the wind

like words flung across a thunder

filled room, end over end, between

our quarreling anger

You have no idea the effect

your words had on me last night

in bare feet, water dripping

from just-shampooed hair

and frustrated eyes, I wrapped

a shield of…

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