If I had a son
I’d name him Jonah
And for the first time I’d be in
Love
With teetering tot
Melting into white cotton
Sheets twisted
around bits of
Twig and sand sprinkled
between the folds of socks
that have slid off of
tiny toes
That I could collect
without disturbing
my love
who
After a long day of
Travelling through backyards
And almost making it over
the swing set is
slow burning
grace
resting gentle
face
TDM
I have gone on many paper adventures, pages and pages of text have carried me up and up, far, far away. Daydreams and sleepy dreams have comforted my thoughts and set an imaginary trail behind me. Footsteps through cobblestone pathways, sipping dark coffee, following lamppost moons. Then tracking through snowy banks, heavy feet and runny nose, breathing in crisp frost, windy tears wiping away snowflakes that land on cheeks. Sun baked faces turning red as gazes are lifted, trailing the side of ancient monument and sand castle. Silk or linen draped across wandering eyes, highlighted colours amongst sepia and terra cotta. Crickets keeping souls awake in the night, a reminder to feed the fire to keep the warmth from escaping the tent, so that catching fireflies is a little bit more interesting. Though harder to see them in flame light, it is better for roasting marshmallows. Stopping by a stream to sip or splash water in the cracking faces and worn boots. Stopping by the side and peeling off jackets to rest heads on, stones to prop tired feet upon. And finally listening to ocean swells with active ears and quiet faces, being sprayed with salty mist. Then to squish toes in the sand when the water has not covered them, scraping a heal on a little shell, a tiny home built in repetitive beauty, swirling and twirling curves. The shell made of soft pinks and yellows, like the canvas stretching far beyond the rolling and bouncing waves, going going on until hidden by blues, lighter, then darker, then burst of silver overhead. Twinkle to preserve some light for walking home in, howls to bid goodnight.
TDM
I would very much appreciate some feedback on this piece. I haven’t decided if it is complete or not. Please let me know what you think.
I washed with primrose
Rosehip and jasmine oil
On the night of the full moon
In a stream
Under hill
I bathed over pasture
And disappeared with
With every ripple
And drip
In the superb
Retrograding reflection.
TDM
I have forgotten myself many times
mostly on purpose
I have made days go by without saying
hello to a mirror
and have been even better
at making nights disappear
suffocating myself under blankets
the easiest place to be
where words are muffled and sounds elude me.
TDM
Here is a very rough poem for which I was hoping to get some thoughts on:
i can tell
when you lean in quite close
that you wear the fragile grin of a child
on your face,
to hide behind gritted armour
has done you well
but you leave a trail of feathers behind
whenever I walk with you,
a hurried look on your face
to peek through fences
and burrow in the mud
excitement for any difference in the day,
what wonderful character that is,
to fill my head with thoughts of
daisies and falling
leaves and perfume
staining the air,
innocent charm that
scoops me up and tosses me
onto a bed of golden leaves
stealing sweet smiles
that become gentler
and soften into tiny baby giggles
as you frame my face with your hands
and lean in quite close
I get nauseous when you speak
And when you walk
With your head held up high
I worry
For when the rain comes
And wonder
If you will drown.
TDM
This piece is yet another work in progress. I would appreciate any feedback on composition or completion (is it complete or does it feel incomplete and abrupt).
A stray took to me
Like a fox to a fawn
And in so doing clung to my skirt
With such grip that she
almost tore me loose
From my garment
So instead of resisting
I guided her
along with me
And took rest by a bank
For I knew she would like to investigate
Just as much as I
What company had befallen her
TDM
