Poetry

Not Objects Exactly

December 5, 2016

Words are not objects exactly, but people perhaps. Children, reflections of me. Laugh, skip, sing, jump, joy pour word on word then mist through wild entwining rivers rushing and roaring through acres of time. Words are not objects exactly. Pluck words from the air twirl on a finger, arrange on a page. Hard fast hard hurl down change white to black then stretch to long …

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Storm in Early Morning

September 18, 2015

Crack and boom of wild wars. Spirits rise to darkened skies. No hay today. I sit at my desk in the early morning, facing the blank white blind which I have pulled across my window to hide the dark. No face, no beauty in that. Words puddle on my computer screen, muddle from my fingers–fun to splash in, maybe, if you have red rubber boots, …

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I Saw A Star Fall From Heaven

January 8, 2015

I didn’t used to like poetry, until I realized I had been reading only rhymed lines and pale caricatures. Real poetry is taken from life, unpinned and powerful. The following “found poem” was taken from the Bible, King James Version. I saw a star fall from heaven to the earth to dwell in a salt land, not inhabited. Woe is me! I cannot speak, for …

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