Stories tagged poetry

Cradle

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Fingers fan like birds’ wings cradling the volume, head hanging low and lips moving silently...

The Poet as Planemo

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in a deep burn of words

Rebekah Just When the Drought Was Ending

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But the best thing about Rebekah was the way she floated always beneath the scent of woodburn and dusty Middle America,

first

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We leave what we remember first

late nights

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I. November II. December III. Werewolf IV. Yellow

Map

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Someone thought the world could be wrapped up in a few words

Poppa

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said you loved me told some jokes aren’t you dying?

Bitter Ballads - No. 3

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A crucifixion scene.

Autumn in the early days

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In September's fallen footnotes

the spirit of the dead watching. Gauguin

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Listening too much to the night, with its whistles, bright lights of luminescent bursts like leaves on fire, or the raised ear of a cow in the purple mist, or the curled tail of a pig foraging in the night.

Shovel

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each vertebra is a golden cavalier, brave in upright vigilance; stoic heroes.

End of the Arabesque. Degas

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In the background a group of ballet dancers hovers above their own legs and feet, one in a pose, some in light, some in shade in a forest backdrop. Two or three lit with blue light as though ignited in the shadows. Another lounging on the floor, a few sit

End of an Arabesque. Degas

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Holding a bouquet of flowers wrapped in a tissue in one hand, a round shape that balances the round yellow burst of light that is her dress. While the flesh of her chest bulges forward and she balances as though in a holding pattern in flight.

Blue Edge

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The woods dying briefly

woman having her hair combed. Degas

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The nude woman sits straight back, with her hand indented in the flesh at her hip, bracing herself as the comb is pulled through her long hair, with her breasts thrust forward into the light.