Go on. Open it, sweet one. I dare you.
i’ve been reading virigina woolf and emily dickinson lately. Her breast is fit for pearls, / But I was not a `Diver’ - / Her brow is fit for thrones / But I have not a crest. / Her heart is fit for home - / I – a Sparrow – build there / Sweet twigs and twine / My perennial nest. - Emily Dickinson there were a few things that inspired these words on this blustery rainy day: Writing Workshop’s Exercise Four white witch, black heart / Mariposa, / I bet no-one’s called you that since we lived in our shack by the sea with olive trees and peeling green shutters; when you twirled fire, I painted the sun and all we needed was lemons, salt, and Jose Cuervo. / I wouldn’t miss your launch. / Where was he today? / I don’t care about him. / Here I am. / Does he know you howl at quarter moons? Does he know you drew constellations in black ink on my skin? Do you remember us… cocooned in our chrysalis of tangled salty dreams and coffee-creamed skin? / Your words betray you, my love. Why is your book full of love letters to a girl who wears my middle name and has a scar along her jawline, just like me? / I know that when you come out to your car, you’ll search for this scrap of paper under your windscreen wipers. You’ll hate yourself for it but that’s what you’ll do. / Here I am. copyright © 2008, Holly Ringland. a few days after writing this piece, i stumbled across leith o’malley and his space here on redbubble. when i came upon the mesmerising black butterfly. it was like finding my words and Grace’s heart freshly plucked and arranged in a vase of charcoal and magic.
We are over / We have not one more / Over to go through - / It has ended / Lying under you As gone as the first sparkle in / Your calm eye…
girl’s intuition – boys don’t get it ; )
A classic haiku. / The first line came to me on a beautiful, warm spring day as the breeze fluttered through my open window. I wanted to make it into a poem, but I couldn’t get past the third line. / Then I read a story (required reading for my American Lit class, lol) where the main character’s mother wrote haiku for a Japanese-American newspaper. And I remembered: haikus are only 3 lines, and were 5, 7, 5. I counted the syllables in the lines I had. It was perfect. I usually prefer to write unorthodox things in an orthodox fashion, but this one fits into the category of “haiku” perfectly. The syllables are all correct, and it’s about weather. lol
NSFW
The wind like a whirling dervish / Whipping up the leaves…........
Snowflakes float gently to the ground as I break over a ridge, scanning the clearing in front of me for elk. The silence is so loud it a…
Written back in the 1990’s, before I moved to Pennsylvania. Though I love hunting in PA with my husband, I sure do miss hunting elk with my dad and brother!
We have 4 seasons; Summer, Fall, Winter and then Spring. As summer starts we hear the laughter of children on swings, slides, etc. and th…
Seasons come and seasons go
Pallid skies of cloud and mist look down upon the ground. / Reds and scarlet brown, windswept yellow leaves, / Calm the new wind is, whis…
Just a simple account of the smells and feeling a Wisconsin Fall has.
Winter’s sun / Sets a rising Summer
cycle of grief…
Light-catchers flutter, soaking Sun and it’s rays. / Drinking Light, clean and bright, offered during the days
Pick a subject then write a poem about it. But you can’t use the actual word of that subject in the poem, except for the title. It’s a fun mind bender.
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