The Whistle .1

The whistle’s air cries/Shrill and undeniable/The wise will obey/The wiser will say/‘The whistle, I hear/And I do not fear’

Alligator Rocking Chair: a Poem [CW: CSA]

Uncountable, unfathomable, unimaginable, insurmountable, I cannot inventory this lifespan. Seated in glory, never damn the molted skins sloughed, succeeded—

50k Words of Poetry in 30 Days

I wrote the word count equivalent of ‘The Great Gatsby’ this month, aka completing the NaNoWriMo challenge. This year’s goal of a poetry compilation had me apprehensive but I had a theme of unity in mind and everything came together naturally. ‘And We Be’ was pre-titled before a single word of it was written, having …

Why I Write .3

[CW: CSA] I protect myself under layers of analysis and resolution, thickly padded thoughts processing everything the raw core of myself spits out. Sometimes the original material has been recycled and repackaged before it gets to my conscious self. Writing helps understand the workings of this protective system so I may be aware of the …

Poetry

A combination of words which may be bound to chosen rules, even a choice of none: poetry is foremost a series of literary choices which form a final piece which is not (usually) called story, novel, article. At times poetry is prose. At times it’s defined by its structure or theme. At times it’s verse, …

Listening to You Sing: A Poem

How to be here, how to be me— worthy of you, of our proximity—The bright gold spirit on your breath, of untold potentiality and depthPure and yours, known as the blood in your veinsand sweat in your poresGrown, fermented, bottled, liquid can’t compareto the spirit in your core.

two bittersweet nightshade, fifty clover, orchard grass, six ghosts, and four spirits

how many encircle you, apple tree, nowo’layers o’layers stack-side more,the core of your trunkcounting rings of a cross section,still-direction, to be so many things,if you can see, how many are we?togethered, apartedI trust only you, hope-thing of healingcount us for true, one may say oneI am— alone, but no—beings stand beside mebelow us as well, …

Poetry: End of Journey’s Rest

I found myself wandering among words, Tongue tied but knowing what I’d heard, Those letters and sounds dutifully spurred Me to take upon my name Jaybird. All my many visions become blurred, Futures and pasts I may call absurd. From one to another, a thought is transferred And I am awoken by a mere word.

Why I Write .2

I write because it's good for me. It stimulates my brain and reconnects me. Both holistic and highly scientific, this form of health is transformative, it’s transcended, it moves and carries-- I do it because writing peels back layers and extrapolates. Writing knows that both I and what I carry are transported by assigning words …

Mind Over Matter: A Poem

You strange story from childhood whose origins I know not— I remember you said we should be guardians of the woods of crisis wrought. So long ago, I can’t recall if the story’s birth was true but thinking back, above else all I was given the wherewithal to become a statue. A wounded woman, arms …