Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Thursday, March 14, 2019

Clocks In Deep Resentment

Do clocks sit in deep resentment
of time flowing past them, through them, slipping by,
or do they cradle and bless like a riverbed? 

I have asked them, held in my hand
like branched nests whose natural progress is startled
by my rude curiosity.

You--are you a kind of clock?
At times you define me to myself, but in the next moment
one of us has moved on, like pouched time, a hoarded secret.

I wonder--shall I join these resentful clocks,
ticking off quantified complaints ad infinitum?
Or is it better that I dissolve, like the sugar of a moment

In a hot mug that warms my hands, but only in this instant?

for Fireblossom Friday: Ask  Question.


Sunday, March 10, 2019


When I die,
may it be at mid-afternoon, in autumn.
May there be a a westerly breeze
carrying the scent of a burn barrel not much distant.

When I die,
lay my dog's old leash and collar across my hands.
If my life has had roses, sunflowers, asters,
leave me with simple mums

Like distracted children made to see off 
an old auntie they hardly know
and who is less interesting
than today's red leaf, or tomorrow's taste of cider.

for Sunday Muse #46

Tuesday, March 5, 2019

Song of the Silly Girl

"Be Free" by the sensational Magic Love Crow
I fall into a tree when gravity
reverses itself--
natural laws turn fickle 
this time of year
don't you find?

I am become trinket for my
heart's desire, Sir Crow.
He knows me--
the wench who nests in fourwalls
and sings, albeit badly.

As stunned as I am to have fallen up,
so is my Love taken aback
and gobsmacked
at the ridiculous endearments I spout in his direction,
and fresh
as spring leaves.

for Sunday Muse #45

Friday, March 1, 2019

Big Boss Z

Peanut Man goes out in his back yard on a windy afternoon, picking his way carefully over the ice beside the house, and then high-tailing it over the snow to the back fence to see what neighbor dog Quinn has to say. That accomplished, he sees the birds under the feeder and takes a duty run at them, delighting in making them fly.

windy afternoon
bird house on its string swaying
as winter hangs on

If those birdies want their seed, got to talk to Mister Z