that's mrs. mediocrity to you

i sit on this stump
in this bland
bullied field
and i wait

for

pink to perform
green to genuflect
turquoise to totem
violet to violence
red to rage
orange to oscillate
indigo to idle

my legs glare white
and the sun
whisper fingers
my ankles

telling secrets
in code
that can only
be read
by the light
of a fireflies’
dream

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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.

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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

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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.

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everywhere i go i pick up rocks
fist sized and pocket pretty

glitter bombed and sand scoured
mud coated and water polished

if you come to my house
you’ll find one in every corner

scattered on shelves
ringing the chimney

posing as tchocke and
serving as doorstop

lift the one at your feet and
you’ll feel the mountains

touch the three to your right
and you’ll wear the forest

graze the one on that shelf
and hear whispers of german

all the best ones are hidden
in places i’ve forgotten

the chunk of white granite
i found when i walked out

a dog-bone shaped fossil
holding place for a friend

the almost heart i dug up
from my always garden

hard bits of ancient life
compressed into monument

words and footprint
howls and monsoon

captured in cages
beyond the season

of deciduous silence
and decay

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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.

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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

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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.

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.

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.

.

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for twenty years
you kept a frame on a shelf
always out of reach
and tilted just so
encasing a photo
of nothing

no one ever asked
and you never
mentioned why
and eventually
your dust
colored it forgotten

but nothing ever dies
without revealing bones

and one day
the earth
grumbled just enough
to tip that empty square
into transparent
shards

slicing
through silence
with the clean
cold precision
of yesterday’s
knife

to reveal
a second picture
always hidden
from view
screaming
the truth

in lost time

.

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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.

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my soul is not for sale
the sky is filled with words
and i love to sweep

my heart has been broken
more times than a promise

look at me sideways
and i’ll disappear

most days i want to change everything
most days i wouldn’t change anything

i walk a plank of wooden nickels
and who i am has no value

i live on vowels fished from waves
in the sea of repetition

censorship is a dark cloud
raining false vanilla

my broom is not for sale
the words are filled with holes
and i’m in too deep

.

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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.

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there will be days to hold onto
and days that burn the skin from your fingers

happiness is a pearl you should wear
when no one else is looking

every movement you make involves a choice
between yourself and someone you love

practice remembering what it was to be a child
and laugh with joy at least once a day

lick wonder from your fingers and
rub hope into your elbows

don’t ever be afraid to be silent
or to speak or to sing or to scream

every mirror is a false apparition
find your reflection in someone else’s eyes

you will grow in ten million directions
and every one of them is who you are

make every mistake you can imagine
and then go back and make a few more

kindness always replenishes itself
and love is the same as breathing

you will never finish the book
that is your story

life is the gift and survival
is the miracle

sit beneath the sky and find a way

.

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

Linking in over at dVersePoets for Meeting the Bar.

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

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