i’ve eaten a cure

i’ve eaten a cure song

and let it drip down my hands

juice falling from my fingertips

(the password is pomegranate)

and without saying poem, or night

and without saying i love you (really)

and without knowing how flesh can swim

i bank on our desire to see that red ruby

sea (part)

::

for Real Toads

 

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damage

simmering volcanoes
don’t look in the mirror
parasites are biting their feet
and it hurts,
and they hurt,
and on it goes deep

and the toll is taken

you might have a heart,
a fill-in-the-blank,
an incident, an incitement,
a shrapnel piece lodged somewhere within,
a mouth clamped down
over the wound, —
and though it’s raw
you’ll insist it’s not real

and the toll is taken

and in brute time,
tender collides with
old adages,
walking on hot coals,
on eggshells,
stumbling in the darkness

and the toll is taken

::

11: NaPoWriMo and Real Toads
(am reading Andy Stanley)

One Day

Don’t trust the shadows,
Michael. The faces of all
our old friend’s are
peeling on Kodak paper.
Half truth: our identity
has fallen into the ocean
of youth, and evidently we’ve
lost our rowing muscle, Michael.
But we’re here now. Fifty years
sharper, leaning into the echo:
One day you’re going to marry him

for Real Toads

Let Earth

Gaze at the Heavens
Let us gaze at her too
Let lights inspire
A freedom song
A night of voice in tune

Let us lay down
Our troubled sighs
Be silent in the snow
Listen to the snowflakes talk
Their moonshine faces glow

[for Real Toads
my version of “Joy
to the World”]

Happy Birthday Michele


Holiday music
on a loop
gives me a headache.
I notice this
in Old Navy
and at Costco
after somebody swipes
my cart while I wipe
that smoothie sample
off my sweater.
Regardless,
for your birthday
I’ll sing you
Wang Chung
tonight.

Moths &Stars

my weakness i feel i must finally show
trespassing in places i don’t even know
stealing from them & i’m stealing from you
my heart is unwilling to measure the truth

i like it alone, i’m alone on the shore
i forget about worship, i forget anymore
myself in these shackles, i’m stubble in snow
don’t think of the rapture, no wings, will i go

{first line from Mumford & Sons Awake My Soul submitted to Quickly & Real  Toads}

Fair-Colored Windows

fair-colored windows~
the barren break forth in song
better than words
sweeter than milk and honey
in the mouth or on the tongue

Tan Renga Challenge #25, Angie’s “fair-colored windows”

Beautiful Dreams

fair-colored windows~
the barren break forth in song
better than words

Linked to Carpe Diem

Peter and Paul are Singing

Mary is borne a song of the sea; too holy for everyday ears, like waves breaking. Like ballads tumbling over wet pebble backs. Peter and Paul, are singing.

She’s blowing in the wind.th

Trifecta asked for 33 of our own words about a famous trio. The trio could be from literature, from history or from pop culture. I didn’t really mean to canonize or resurrect Mary Travers of the singing trio ‘Peter, Paul and Mary,’ but after learning that she died in 2009 after a fight with leukemia, I set her voice over the ocean in poem, paying tribute to one of my favorite melodies of theirs, “Blowing in the Wind.”

My Good Night

toss your gladiolus

to the rhythm of the frogs

cover sleepy stones

with wide umbrella palms

be extra kind to those

tired garden mums

and tuck me in gently

with quiet cricket songs