I’m early, the bus, late — peach pit, plastic glove invade narrow bike lane.
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East light burnishes the table while raspberries bleed tart in cold milk.
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Two smaller flickers
gurgle and squeak. Mom shares
the suet with one and taps
bits into his begging beak.
Posts Tagged ‘American Sentences’
bits of stuff
confessions version 07.14.09
Nothing to disclose, strip, let loose or unveil, no wanton pleasures revealed.
My pen is still; where are strange bus riders & talk? — Oh — it’s commute hour.
“Underemployed” needs a better word, something poor, with less syllables.
My toodoze drift aimlessly — coughs, kin visits, late gifts, take charge of time.
It’s enough, today, to let [...]
too much and not enough
When a person is fed, clothed, sheltered and safe there is a time question.
Too much or not enough to make something of the hour, day, week that lasts.
Something is vague, a shifting fog in low light — build instead a small cairn.
Walk away; behind you saws grind maple to dust, open bluing sky.
Clear dirty eyes [...]
Sometimes a sentence is all I got
It’s shadows that make shape & form, tell the story, give secrets away.
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{I know “it’s” not good English. What can one do, when the context sounds better wrong than right?}
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What can one do, when context sounds right yet it’s clearly wrong on the page?
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Today the commitment of sentence is [...]
An American sentence for this day
Pain etches long shadows on another bright blue sky: where were we then?
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For all the lives lost.
American voyeur*
This week’s Read Write Poem prompt is from Carolee. She asked us to go places we weren’t supposed to, describe things we weren’t supposed to see. To rubberneck. And report.
That is a tall order. I have been racking my brain. Trying to look. Trying to remember. It’s dangerous business.
What I have for you are American [...]
Switcheroo
For this week’s Read Write Poem prompt, I’m turning a series of American Sentences into a triolet.
Borrowed Home, Borrowed Life
Leaving this borrowed home I feel relief, regretat missing the watchful eyes of your grandchildrenstaring down at me even while I try sleep yetto leave this borrowed home I feel relief, regretI will miss the cardinals [...]
American sentence
Lip-shaped cardboard floats in a spittled gutter, lipstick side down.
SIghtings…
NaPoWriMo 4.14 (WD) A Man I know
White shoes with black highwater pants: Did your puppy teach you how to dress?
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You thought a turquoise necklace was festive, hate to say it just looked gay.
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I heard you scream your own name when you come- that’s just like you, isn’t it?
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You’re easy to critique, it’s harder to admit the depth of my awe.
SIghtings…
NaPoWriMo 4.10 and 11 (deb) Sentences
Puppy Sentence:
Puppy grabs a spring dandelion pod, it explodes in his mouth: Ha!
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How WD blows me away:
Shared blogs create diversity: thoughts fragmented odd random brilliance.
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SIghtings…
