#OctPoWriMo

Celiac Maniac

So now I’m gluten-free, dairy-free and tasty-free.
Oh, intestinal fortitude why did you forsake me?
Even though my stomach no longer grumbles,
My impulse-control sarcastically mumbles,
“Have another rice cracker? Of course, . . . YIPPEE!”

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#OctPoWriMo

reflections

at the far edge
a plump orange moon
lights a blue-black sky

tucked into the umbra
of misused purpose
elfin stars wink
like fire flies
teasing
taunting
tantalizing

 
slow, sleeping waters
tickle the skerry
intending
to leave a taste of
things that can not be held

reflections

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#OctPoWriMo

I Alone

It is a sharp, thin space
where dreams struggle solitary
under the ice of rejection,
tasting the brief snap of hope

She said
“Honey do not take your piece
at the edge,
step into it,
crunch,
chomp,
chew
like a she-wolf at first kill.
Clamp on,
sustain yourself
lick your chops.
Make no excuses.
Know your dream,
even when others do not.”

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#OctPoWriMo

Mixing It Up

said the poet to the politician,
blue mixed with red
becomes Purple,
the color of reconciliation
the hue of forgiveness

together, blue and red
has the promise of purple ink
applied as a tattoo
to the earth’s skin

we have the opportunity
to stain with individualism
or to enrich with cooperation

said the poet to the politician
let’s liberate Purple
let’s work together

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#OctPoWriMo

whether

a sparkling snowflake
falls to kiss the earth below
gently slipping into
a steamy caress
evaporating
only to return
in the anger of thunder
in the delicate embrace of a soft rain
in the suffocating drizzle of too much

each transforms
the landscape of my life

weather permitting

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#OctPoWriMo

Nuts and Bolts

Opening the door
I inhale the gravity
of broken down dreams

inherited noise fills the landscape
creaky grumblings steal certainty
in the sibilation of silence
I step through
the threshold

ready

to scratch the itch

to find meaning
in the pitted rust
of emptiness

10.2.2016

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#OctPoWriMo

Beginnings

at the Temple of Time,

We begin to end

this altar does not accept
our ticking and tocking anxieties,
whether we worship time by way of a Rolex
or a sun dial,
by sunrises or
sunsets,
by the Firemen’s Annual Calendar
or by the iWatch.

We begin to end.

what we do in the middle
is held
in the beat of a heartbreak
in the pluck of ambition
in the tears of bereavement
and in the slurping up of
bad luck, rough spots and
pipe dreams

We begin to end,

Or

Do we end, to begin?

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