Chewing on words
a poem's rough edges cuts the tongue, barbed irony abounds, jagged with reminders to go slow or pay the price
the script informs how one must speak the words dense, disturbed, distant, a mixed emotional concoction of removal
this prose tastes abandoned, a story from one age eaten more than morsel, if one cuts the edges off to find the center often hidden
Swallowing these lines
for #ds106 Daily Create
I am shadow in screen-light; the quiet of morning still sleeping, pausing to get each word right, the table beneath keeping us balanced- the computer, the coffee, the poem, and I
for #ds106
All postmodern birds are nothing more than
wings of words feathers of letters talons of tales beaks of books
written and read, but rarely seen
for #ds106
So it sits, all winter: The engine, cold; its ignition switch, dangling by a wire; a small fire, barely remembered from November; when nights, cold, meant grass didn’t grow; Yet still, it waited in silence, ready to break the world with noise
It’s nearly impossible to know the movement of Earth, while standing in the center, pondering its invisible pull; Perhaps we see it most clearly in pencil marks of poets, gliding words in motion, on paper - a waterfall tumbling into nothingness
Breaking the frame becomes you — the slight angle in which your eyes remember the point of view
Breaking the frame releases, too — the quiet pause in which your mind remembers the point of you
for #ds106
So much of us remains forever hidden - the super of man the wonder of woman - until the time we find we are needed, the moments when we pull from inside something to believe in
for #dS106
fire hand slowly burns this fire land into ashes
we are reborn again in the dust of what has gone before
Here, hold my fingers grasp my fire hand tell your story rebuild the world once again
for #ds106
These dark days stretch to boiling, boorish and bubbling, with leaders run amuck
We're stuck at square one, the tour of protest, joined, and answers, required
Democracy benefits from accountability
(a poem built from random ten words for #ds106)
I'm less nub than stub, a graphite ghost of stories and poems. Now imagine the paper, lined and unlined, tiny little spaces where I spent my days, scribbling with abandon in order to write my way into the world, only to disappear, my sharpened point now crystal clear
— for #ds106