In search of found poetry, I took a cue from Cheri Lucas Rowlands’ Fragments on Time: Found Poetry in My Dashboard and picked five lines from five different drafts of my own detritus. The featured image is my found poem. Even a small child can recount to you the various happenings – the assassination of […]
Index cards Large or small White or bright The thicker ones are better. I pull one out of its plastic sheath. The things that could happen Big things mountains of words Organized into thoughts could happen. I write one idea per card and then shuffle, Look at them in different orders. If I can just […]
Limbs are limbs, We think. But, I Don’t. When a Phantom Can hurt, A foreigner demand removal, How? The common element is paralysis not motion. Oppressed By arms and legs: “They don’t belong To me but keep Clinging to My Torso.” Tracking The first 21 Days Of life, vindicates The immediacy and The primacy of […]
In her mother’s womb she wrestled. Her bag of waters made Of hearty fibers, almost In a mermaid’s purse, she’s born. Black hair is spiked, blue eyes are wide, Mama could barely hold In her delight at this new child, Not fraught with any frailty. With powers so full since that first day, A little […]
Will I come to your side when you are no longer in my arms needing? I try though it feels stilted like cotton is in your ears. Sweet small boy that you were, molded to me like a sloth on a tree, Now you are tall and knobby like a young sapling: proud, no bend. […]
My first Abecedarian sequence I saw visually wrapped around on itself like in the featured image: A bronze cauldron does erupt forming a golden hole. (Inner juxtaposition) knowing, lamenting, mastering nothing. Praying, querying saves then underlies vastness. (Wanting) xenophobia yearns zoning. Here is an attempt at concrete poetry for the Writing 201 concrete poetry assignment. […]
Our plain face betrays the mitochondrial Eve in us. Father is an old word but mother precedes it. Who knows our longing when we first create fathers who eat us? Art answers: where might our conscious brains with lonely hearts fit? In separateness we hold together, like piano keys ‘ melody. Heaven(s) don’t mock us, […]
At the whim of my elders I dangled on the travel. To the ends of the earth I was tasked, though I knew I’d unravel. They packed me on a plane. Jet lag left me insane. I drank wine every night and caroused and was graveled. Here is a limerick for the Writing 201 journey/limerick/alliteration […]
A brown coat hangs in A dark closet absorbing Dust. Will water help Or steam or fire? He Looks at her with all the words In his eyes. She hears And cries into the Soil. She thinks it will cleanse it Somehow some way. When? I will have to back into the brevity of a […]
The Blacklight Candelabra challenges us to re-imagine a box of chocolates in writing form. A collection of unique and separate [writing] forms a greater whole. One rarely finds a single small piece of [writing] that ascends to the heights that the variety provides. I had been thinking for some time of putting the Abecedarian Sequences into a visual art form. […]
Sayings, singing songs like threaded words on Strings of twine around your neck. Not plastic Like the bright cheap colors in the super Market. On a farm of green and hay and Red barn doors, a child sits high above the Tilting windmills stringing gems, whistling joy. Perchance, the world looks bleak; perchance it is. […]
A brave calm darkens even fear. God harvests ideas, judgments, keys. Living miracles need only prayer, quandaries. Relaxing saves trembling, unarmed. Votive worlds (e)xonerate yesterday’s zealotry. This is an Abecedarian sequence. The featured image is “Study of Hands” by Leonardo Da Vinci sketched in 1474. The original work can be found in the Royal Collection, […]
A ballad courses, devotes evergreen favors, garners hearts. Inside joy (knells / laughs) mirrors noisy oils. Perhaps questions remain. Silence takes us valiantly wayward, (e)xhibiting zeal. This is an Abecedarian sequence. The featured image is “Fallen Jockey” by Edgar Degas painted 1896-1898. The original work can be found in Kuntsmuseum Basel in Basel, Switzerland. All […]
To wake hellbent, the maelstrom funneled head: Inside “(no)” a curtain drops. But I say, “I’m okay now.” (The small deceits.) Instead Of, “See, the grey sky’s fraught? Rain’s on its way?” Ignored I am by me against my will. Self prison grows up hate to wind up thought. “Sleep snug smug shits” and sundry […]
Abundance breeds colony drones, earnest foragers, Goldenrods. Humming in jealousy, knowing lore’s manners, none of puberty quiet remains. Swarming (taboo) understands vacillation (wings), (x)centric yellow zones. This is an Abecedarian sequence. The featured image is “Self Portrait With Arm Twisting Above Head” by Egon Schiele painted in 1910. All work by Schiele (1890-1918) is in […]
Ava bends cold dreams. Ever (forever) glad hands, in June, kindly light masterful nearness. Oh, prose quite rarely sits. The unbent visions would (e)xonerate yet zest. This is an Abecedarian sequence. The featured image is “Portrait of the writer N.B. Nordman-Severova” by Ilya Repin painted in 1905. All work by Repin (1844-1930) is in the […]
A bright coat deigns every fall gallant. Horses, indelibly jaunty, kill laps (matted neighs). Orphans, pawns, queens, rabble-rousers, stand to Undo velocity. “Winner! Xerxes!” yells Zachary. This is an Abecedarian sequence. The featured image is “At the Races, Longchamps” by Pierre Bonnard painted in 1894. This work by Bonnard is in the public domain.
Abecedarian = “a 26 word prose poem” that “almost means something.”
I thought, “I will abandon this car, this Hulking piece of metal. It won’t keep me Prisoner. I have legs, after all, I’m Made of flesh and bone, after all.” So I
We’re to honor those who gave us breath of Life. With might, I never thought I owed this Debt; since I sprung from my father’s head full Grown. Respect, obey, take heed, these things came
They say to make the most of every day While youth says, wait, I move to squander years Youth loathes the dawn, when demons tend to appear In brown forms, they fly tugging at the scalp
My son, I love you more than words could say. Judged I the wish for an obedient child, So long, you’d need but me to meet your day. My trickster boy with temperament as mild
I do not remember the day you filled my mind with certainty. The day your dazzling clarity became irrefutable to my feeble mind. The card-board stand-up people bartered dead objects in strange and barren places. I could see to the end of heaven.
We do not perceive a species’ extinction or survival in terms of punishment or reward because such a judgment would have a moral quality, inappropriate to the beasts. Yet, we do not treat ourselves or each other with such tenderness.