Monday, April 24, 2017

The Hooting Stops Day 24 NaPoWriMo Eckphrastic over Medieval Marginalia

In the bleakest center of the woods, an owl hoots.
Two grackles fly in its face, pecking at its eyes.

The eye of Horus is a common burial symbol  
represented by lapis and the color green. 

The owl is a omen predicting death, It can rotate
its head 270 degrees.=A human neck flexes from 40 to 60 degrees.

In the night I listen for the barn owl’s hoot. I can barely
hear its call. The cat and owl have similar hearing, up to 7kHz.

One night in the middle of another, the owl leaves
the forest. The grackle may or may not follow.  

Sunday, April 23, 2017

Double Elevenie: NaPoWriMo, Day 23

Crafty duplicity
Magician's theater performance
Birds manifesting from scarves

Honest interaction
My trusted perceptions
Spotted the holding wires

Saturday, April 22, 2017

Instructions For Desert Dwellers Day 22 NaPoWriMo

When you consume, don’t be too greedy
as our water is vanishing. So there’s enough,
let your lawns die, your golf courses turn brown,
and forget lavish floral displays. Red stone
is nice, so little upkeep with just a few large
white rocks and a cacti or two.  

When you consume, don’t be too greedy
as the water is vanishing. To last beyond
this century, take short showers, use car
washes, exchange the old-fashioned washer
for a low-water front-loader. And keep
avarice at bay. It’s a built structure that
will never support the whole.

When you consume, don’t be too greedy
as the water is vanishing. Remember the
shared bath, saved mop water to refresh
house plants, and the refreshing shade of a favorite
fishing hole. Don’t join the  hands-off attitude
of the elite. It’s important to acknowledge
that death is a deal-breaker.

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Before You Were NaPoWriMo Day 19 Creation Myth

There was light, that’s it, simple!
And the light said be anything you want
so I started out with you. I’m pretty good
creating, though I’ve heard rumor that the
avocado’s pit is too big. Anyway, just think light,
letting it fill you, letting it rework the beginning
of each new day. That new beginning is a blast.
Well, some say so anyway. Me, I just knit
cells together and voila, you know the rest of
the story. Perhaps a little Dr. Frankenstein-ish.
Here is all you need to know: light, then you,
repeat.Think,then create. And be careful.

Tuesday, April 18, 2017


You walk the dog along the pond, talking
to your finance about the wedding. You say
sleep eluded your last night because of worry.

Worry, like you do sometimes, fretting over
your job, you say. All the weight of everything
pressing down on you until you’re shaking

your head side to side, saying no, no, no as
if a dream pirate has you tied to the mast
in a rainpour. Weirdly, by morning you’re

okay, realizing an action to take. Find a place
to marry with tables and chairs and a roof above,
in case of rainpour.  It’s simple, yes, giving

up the worry so sleep will wash you down
river, floating on a large inner tube, the day

glorious with sun and spring flowers.

Monday, April 17, 2017

Nocturne NaPoWritMo Day 17

So melancholy, the night, with its emptiness,
its vast void of quietude, its ending and beginning

of nothingness. A sage once said, Look into the
void and see the dream. I did and it left me dancing

across the sky. In the stars, I saw my name written
boldly at first, then so tenderly that I wept. It’s

happening all the time, these tea parties partaken on
green lawns. But we don’t sip together, we drink fast,

rattle our cups, then run out of the yard, not even saying.
Goodbye old friend, nice to see you. It’s my night

to dine with the Queen, and my dress, folds of green
taffeta, swish swish swish. The dawn colors grow

as we dance and daylight will come soon. Soon. And 
with the sun rising it begins again: hurry hurry, my love.

Day 16 NaPoWriMo

Dear B

Your strips are nice as is your honey,
My only gripe is your stinger. The thing is, 
I’ve heard of a therapy that apparently works, 
stinging the sore spot on a knuckle or knee. 
This seems a little harsh for your kind, but 
giving of yourself to help others is good, they
say. My grandson is a afraid of you, as a close 
relative of yours once stung him next to his eye.  
When I fried chicken camping, and you landed
on my hand instead of the leg, I didn’t mind. 
But like my grandson, the sting hurt. I still have
arthritis in that hand. So who knows for sure. 
Anyway, you’re the best, so keep pollinating.

You’re friend,