Middday’s Sweet Dream

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Midday’s Sweet Dream

Line the dark of a mailbox
with dry leaves,
the kind that crinkle
like the ache of old bones
or fire’s pop and snap.
Dip three acorns,

finely cracked,
in honey, gently placing
each seed in the mailbox
on a leaf that well harmonizes
with the nuts autumn hue.
Finally, mix your breath

with the air that chokes the mailbox,
and slowly step away
knowing, tonight,
a lucky sprite
or fay will sleep safely
and well.

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Writers Write

Image result for old pen and inkI find that writers write not to create a world from the shards of the reality that surrounds, but rather to explore a world that otherwise cannot be explored. For a writer, a poem or a story is nothing more than a door into that world, a door they must create to a world they must invent for that door and world does not exist outside of their own minds and through their minds is the only passage to exploration.

 

The Air Troubled

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The Air Troubled

The air troubled
by a dragon’s flight
abandons
all familiarity
with gentility.

Having been tainted
by a chemistry of greed,
this air,
heavy with light or shadow,
seems to shatter
into shards of infirmity
that adhere to one’s lungs
as an ax might cling
to a tree it has smote
or a knife vibrating
deep in a bleeding heart.


Droll

My Dear Boy

There is little I can say to comfort you. The dead are dead. Some who still breath will be dead soon. The battle…it raged with a might the startled shadows and beckoned the wind to chose different paths. You fought bravely, dear boy. Your sword was sharp and sliced through air and flesh with honor, with cause. Today, my squire, my son, you became a knight, the bravest knight I’ve ever seen.

Now, sleep my son. Let go. Your reward awaits. My dear boy, my dear, dear boy.

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When Sparrows Arrive

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“Crazy people are considered mad by the rest of the society only because their intelligence isn’t understood.”

― Zhou Weihui

Yeah, I’ll go with that one.

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When Sparrows Arrive

Today, I’ll dig a hole
near the daffodils
that sway,
clustered like a choir
in yellow robes,
and marvel…
how completely
that void is choked
with sunlight,
how quickly
the sparrows arrive
to splash and spark
in that pool.