dogtrax

A place to gather words before they get lost.

Pondering creativity;

a Pollock painting a Coltrane riff a Morrison passage a Dickinson aside

a letting go, in order to allow oneself to be pulled deep into a moment where something is where nothing was

  • for DS106

Some days feel frayed

small threads broken away

the knotted mind, changed

fingers, in; weave it, again

#smallpoems for Wendy and Terry

fret work; singing on six strings bending notes like bending time like bending rhymes

Shadow Forms

You, with skinned chalked fingers, colored hues, scratching outlines upon an uncomfortable blacktop canvas

Me, in shadow form, standing just still enough to become outline for a vision of ephemeral art

Us, waiting days for the rains, to wash away these impressions, the sky's a critic, nothing else remains

for #nwp

https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1uB6wxyxa8k47n0zbnABUTcjXFi4pKy8da-kl-dv7jmo/edit#slide=id.ga2c541e1fd_0_27

Penumbra

Some pieces of all of us hide among the shadow spaces of the day

We are unintentionally obscured, filtered by inadequate words

awaiting the moment when light-time filters through and we see each other for the very first time

for #nwp

https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1uB6wxyxa8k47n0zbnABUTcjXFi4pKy8da-kl-dv7jmo/edit#slide=id.ga2c541e1fd_0_0

Gift

Here, take this note, this melody, this harmony this symphony, this sonata, these interlocking lines tangled in signatures of time, this musical string of something where once nothing was, a listening to your heart from mine

for #nwp

https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/15ZUuXvQItzworFQdVAOm1sHOK4-yqS4-2rw_Cmf1iuY/edit#slide=id.ga9d652d7da_0_0

There's no way I can POET, friend, in a room full of kids knee-deep in the books, I need to stay 'til the end 'til every one of them looks ready to write a story or poem then I might find a diversion on the long journey home, and join you on POET's Day, so you won't be alone

— for #ds106

Press pause, if you will; this hill is in slow decline

Scars show healing, too, knife lines tracing wounded worlds, places of exposure in which fingers brush up against the past, the skin always sharing stories, with jagged imperfections etched deep inside the heart

for #openwrite

Awake, when sleep departs, listening to rhythms of night, the landscape inscrutable but for some small melody still yet lingering: mere gossamer and translucence and then gone

for #openwrite