that's mrs. mediocrity to you

.

arms wide open

reach for the light

even when

it blinds you

.

pretty pictures
telling prism stories
and so much gets lost
in lead and separation

everything you see
is colored
by comparison

complement and
analogy

pattern and shade

rendition and
supplication

you have to listen

the wind
seeps in
between pane
and crack

the truth
is always
in the whispers

.

.

.

.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night – join us!

and now you walk bare shouldered
down a road that has no secret

no curve or twist to make you wander
as you form new blisters and
sweat gallons of yester
days
into this insatiable sand

the signs all say keep walking
and so you stop
drink air from empty pockets
wishing you’d remembered
the only book you’ve never read

and

the sun never was your friend
even though you held its warmth
on ten thousand days of skin
and horizon is the same
as ever after

your bones always knew
the way to cave and
dancing flame

but you passed by
the mouth of silence

screaming

adaptation is the mother of sanity

you think i’m wrong hiding beneath
this blanket of light
absorbing everything you say

my shadow has hot, hard edges

nothing gets blurred from black to white
you are blue and i am syllable
stitched together by frustration’s empty needle

there is no breeze to humble this silence

and the sun creeps by in patterns
geese and ring, cabin and star
pieced-together stories left unread

we are puzzles in a frame of empathy

one day soon, it will rain again
wash us clean and bleed our colors together
until we’ll have to squint to define

the outlines of distinction

even as they fade

away

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

my garden forgives
all my sins

neglect
lazy indifference
impatient expectation

roses climb and clamber
fixed on fun and chaos
neverminding the rules
of convention

pretty
is not the same
as fragile

this place feeds
bug and snail
soul and spirit
bird and body

there are no straight lines
no honest assumptions

no pretense
or promise
beneath this sky dome
night temple

and you will always
get your hands
dirty

.

with the wind in your hair

and a song in your heart

and love on the tips

of your fingers

.

i need
no other canvas

no brush
but these birds

no paint
but this light

no mood
but these stars

space
to sit beneath

quiet
simple

exposed
and not afraid

rain down
upon this face

silence
i drink you

in

the fork
the curve
the crossroad

we are always there
walking on
breathing in

shade
sunlight
shade

my path
your path
beaten by
footprint
leaf
experience
rain

no one knows
what lies
around that bend

shade
sunlight
shade

sunlight

you can always get in
if you have the right key

but the sun glare might blind you
and the scent will intoxicate

and you will find yourself
asleep on the ground

in a field filled with poppies
red white and blue

flag waving
petal cloud sky

your wounds will change color
scars will form
bones will knit
holes and pain and fear
become distant memories

red and blue
will fade to violet

you might smell lavender
or the pepper of lupine

monkshood will tower over you
baptisia will offer shade

in the rose-filled secret garden
behind thorns and cold stone fences

if you have the right key
you can always get in