that's mrs. mediocrity to you

all your flaws are evidence of irony

mother nature has a sense of humor
but also, a quick temper

she sends flowers as apology on a regular basis

you have to cut your own path in the forest of existence,
with a quick-sharp, heart-forged machete

courage is your metronome and
labyrinth is another word for learn

live lost and laugh at life’s thunder

the sky remembers every flash of lightning

earth is just a pattern of old scars
hiding shy beneath a veil of tattered stars

.

.

beliefs and baubles rain down
from a sky filled with numbers

and i have no cloak to offer

the skin i wear is my reality
broken hands and banged up knees

my gift is the soil scraped from nails

rich with worm and cross-hatched root
held down by your wing driven sky

nothing is wrong in the forest of calm

and i climb into the cave of bear
embrace the bones you’ve buried there

each icon wrapped in fields of feather

loose layers of tender revealed by touch
reflect the season of my eyes

as spring awaits the hunger of your cry

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.

no ceiling high enough
no walls confine enough

contain me
restrain me

if you can

explain me

i will not falter
in my worship
of your eternity

i will not paint you
taint you
saint you

or ever
embrace you

word keeper
star weaver
wind teaser

mind flight
expansive
wing-teacher

forever’s
cerulean eye

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.

i am
pastel pretty and dark closet rune
bone deep and feather dried
fountain flushed and mirror movement

i am
earth breath and wing touch
hope bare and hollow eyed
fault finder and gravity maker

i am
song sword and syllable certain
scream vague and whisper written
moon hearted and nest addled

i am
moss skirt and crooked finger
open grave and winded future
beaded lover and scramble dancer

i am
the sun that never rose
in the forest of supplication
fleeing the harness of habitude

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.

last night i slept in the forest of persistence
ragged tent and grey-mashed hair rippling
in the breeze of days i’ve never seen

my bed was a hammock of loss and my face
was hidden in veils of regret

but i kept one hand hanging free

at midnight the wolves set their howls
to the tune of a white mandolin

i watched the dance of forgotten flesh
fingers tapping with rapt indecision
and smiled at the harbinger’s dream

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.

in the hush
in the quiet

under breath
beneath the bridge

i never cross
never burn

forest blaze
dancing flame

pirouette
in deep dark shadow

spin spin
never stop

my heart
is your whisper

my voice
is your silence

my music
your zephyr

i am quiet
always quiet

winding through
your ancient labyrinth

never lost
never sorry

for your imprint
on my skin

.

.

with your heart
with your mind
with your soul

refuse
to listen
to ask permission
to be defined

your music
is your legacy
your song
your essence

refuse to be silenced

slice through the dark
with the call
of your hunger

unleash your fury

keen
in the presence
of light

i hear your song
in the morning

an echo of night
and moon
and cassiopeia

i sit silently
listening

for ever

there is no time
in the sand
that pours
through your veins

but this music
keeps me

dancing

you’ve unfolded me
again

come to stare at crease and corner
dog-eared rhyme
lackadaisical time

i prefer the darkness
of your pocket
heart bent and burnished

where i learn all your secrets
by the pattern of
rest race pound melt skip

and you beat me
with your silence

drowning out everything
but the crinkle velvet sound
of worn words rubbing up
against lint and line

torn tattered loyalty
habit defined

.

.

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

i have rosa parks on one eye
and an apple in the other

and that’s not even counting how many
flags it took to paste my mouth shut,
a whole row of forever sealed with love

to keep me quiet because letters
are filled with absence and whispers
and the check is always in the mail

but even grand central station
can’t keep up with a butterfly
that hovers just this side of blue

and your two cents
well, it will cost a whole lot more
to be heard nowadays

in this world of press on policies
and plastic outrage refusing to fit into
one ounce or seven at quarter past eleven

and the gavel of discretion
bangs down hard on my temple,
this ruin of time so fragile

but not at all hazardous
or containing anything liquid
restricted or red tape perishable

just a kaleidoscope of flowers
for corner decoration and
one way philatelistic passage

when all you have to do
is write

.

.

.

Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night