Ugly

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

If I had a Son

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

Word Vomit of the Imaginary Traveler

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

Bathe

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

Wings and Tied

It has been a long time

Since I have listened to chirping or

A flutter

A far cry from usual territory

Out of range by a long

Shot

 

Beats

Like a propeller, where there is a chill

In the air

Retreat

Or do not if your bones permit

If your fragility

Has not caught up with you

And your garb is puffed and fluffed

 

In flight you are

Formidable

On solid ground

You are canvass and backdrop

All in one

Swoop

 

And glide

In a most translucent way

That there may be less chance

Of foul and etched irritants

From gilded feathers

Plucked

Of a nuisance.

 

TDM