Rising Late

Resting


If I were folded
behind my stone, cool and alone
wrapped against decay
in sweet linens, mouth stuffed with herbs
and a ferryman's penny holding the shutters closed
unable to see the wreck of the world
I think I'd ignore
a call to rise.


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early gift

rice cakes, tea, mangoes
a morning of surprises
left on the green tray



by MK

April Skies: Going all poet on ya.

Since I stumbled, just now, onto an FB share by fellow writer, musician, and wonderful collaborator Songsville, that tells me of NaPoWriMo, I have to try. for one, my songs seem to have stolen my formerly quick-flowing poetry, and for another, I've been sick inside for a week and can use a nudge to get my routines back.

 So: Poems everyday till the end of the month. No promises as to the quality!

I'll stop overdoing it when I catch up.  Ta, Mari.
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untitled 1

Motionless

In uncut grass

The small, fertile mind of the rabbit

Creates faith

In a warm, safe spot

Another taste of new green or yellow

Without the feel

Of cat’s teeth on his neck

Or the frightening slam of a car door.

The next leap takes him there.

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On Chopin’s “The Awakening”

Ellipses scattered under her sentences

Fixing spots on an emptiness

Of the imagination

A failure to see where a woman alone

Might swim to

Where a woman alone in the world

Might write, without apology


  by MK