Austere 

Flinty eyes blur

big glasses

chalk brittle

tongue scrape
rough over barnacle

blood drenched

low tide burnished

cocoon drifts

out to sea

Perhaps

Perhaps

I carry grief in secret
in the marrow of my hips
in stillness I hear the clatter

out the window crocuses
strewn colors as if by hand 
flower from brilliance perhaps

For Sunday Whirl 57

In The Forest

I try to get a foothold
no resistance in jello
need to get a spine

I ogle pines
I trek on needles
in the forest

I love the resin
sticky white sharp
I try to get a foothold

I live in sun
filter etches
forest shadows





Written for Peggy's "Forest" prompt at Poetry Jam

Visit

In my hometown

the indigenous 

are downtrodden

otherwise bloated

with self-importance

Their significance

unequal

one inferior

one superior

Not different

in intention

same rituals

string together

Both have demons

to beat the system

one sustenance

one elaborate

They will never

visit

wordle 56

 

May13by brenda w

Painting

I grind a dot of cobalt

hook it with my brush

wink across wet yellow

chance colors emerging

align clear contrast

molecules vibrate a print

For Sunday Whirl 55