Tuesday, May 10, 2011

small stone #1

I dismiss my mounds of paper,
habitual piling.

I embrace a soft blue-jay's tail.
Posted by at
Labels:

4 comments:

  1. Linda Bob Grifins Korbetis HallMay 10, 2011 at 8:13 PM

    cute..
    :)

    ReplyDelete
  2. AnonymousMay 11, 2011 at 3:37 PM

    I second that :)

    my post was here
    http://blackswanpoetry.wordpress.com/2011/05/05/poem-can%e2%80%99t-believe-it%e2%80%99s-you/

    ReplyDelete
  3. AnonymousJune 1, 2011 at 10:55 PM

    Excellent piece, very nice :)

    ReplyDelete
  4. bttrflyscarJune 2, 2011 at 6:33 AM

    thanks all :)

    ReplyDelete

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

Reach for the clouds. . .

Tickle your toes. . .

  • cryk
    there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
  • thoughtful hillbillies
    RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner....
  • A girl in a shabby green coat, on a railway-station platform
    motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
  • small stone #8
    Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
  • wh(y)?
    like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
  • small stone #7
    strange tree, your flowers look like badminton birdies.
  • small stone #4
    husband and I trek a mile for ice cream just for the creamy banana, crunchy pecans, and chunks of thumb-sized chocolate. shoes flipping and...
  • Wallflowers
    stuck-wallpaper, tickled, matted-madness, in the morning before matinee wallflowers at school dances just want to be asked. ask them. they...
  • Memoir of a Memoir: Week 7
    Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
  • self
    nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...

Poets United Contributor