blood work

Here is my last small stone for the January challenge:

there is a history in my blood
but also a hope that burns
to write one more poem today

eulogy

Here is another small stone, the last one of the month perhaps:

this month i promised myself things
things in limbo floating like clouds
things undone and this is their eulogy

calendar

Here is another small stone for today:

the year of the horse is
already here but im still
doing last year gangam style

trying to forget

Here is another small stone for today:

(for Kim Addonizio)

Sisyphus goes into a bar and
orders a shot which he immediately pounds
the barman asks want another

questions

Here is the small stone for today (hopefully just the first):

lovers want to know if you feel it too
the hungry and the poor ask for what they lack
what is your question today

to write

Here is a pretty formal and rather large small stone for today:

if i ever try to write
a song to sing
like a wing in the sky
if my little words to write
touch somewhere
like reaching out at flying birds
i hope your day to write
just like lovers say

wind pushing air everywhere
pencils pushing thoughts to write
a job of catching moonlight
cascading across this chair
free to lightly tint my hair

if i ever try to write
the light of dawn
like a candle nearby
if my little rhymes to write
are on your hands
like sunlight coats morning chimes
i hope your day to write
just like lovers say

wind pushing air everywhere
pencils pushing thoughts to write
a job of catching moonlight
cascading across this chair
free to lightly touch wish-bound hair

dairy-free diet

Here is a larger small stone for today:

I’ve got ben gunn stuck in my mind
something he said tells me about
shiny shells on the ocean bottom
and the rippling sand of the shore
sifting through the hourglass of
too many robinson caruso days
running to meet an unlikely falstaff
in a crowded rain forest hallway
and so tentatively asking him if he
had a bit of cheese in his pocket

perspective

Here is another small stone for today (I have a lot of catch-up to do):

let us love summer for all the garden’s color
and let us love today for the
rainbow from a sunny ice sickle

comparisons

Here is today's small stone (sorry I have been away with an illness):

“I’m in hell” is intolerable
to say “I’m bedridden in hell”
is far worse

Video Rock and Rap

Here is yet another small stone for today:

tawdry and bawdy
a home cam stripper on a pole
needing fireworks

bottle

Here is another small stone for today:

I pull the cork
on shared memories
and we begin to talk

lonely

Here is today's small stone (probably the first of several):

predawn’s unlikely fireflies
texting or playing on a small blue screen
not broadcasting for love

wingless Pegasus

Here is todays's small stone:

winter’s child magic
grab a flake and poof it’s gone
adults pull the sled

choices

Here is todays small stone:

Camus’ dinner plate
fun time with friends or
history of a deadly struggle

stagehand

Here is the small stone for today:

we go to work and to home
shifting scenery for each scene of the mime
and hoping the audience is not blind

caress

Here is today's small stone:

winter air rushes me from
Paris dawn window until closed
then curtains hang like lost love

sleep

Here is the small stone for today

insomnia is a manikin
in a tuxedo struggling
to find last week’s party

see

Here is today's small stone:

tired red eyes and wrinkled fingers
once again proving by threading the needle
Shaw’s “Hope Over Reason”

army

Here is the small stone for today:

the army of twins
dressed alike charging together
stick swords raised

War

Here is the small stone for today:

my demons dance
before my pen
i brush them away to write

Hope

Here is my small stone for today:

Fireflies are great artists
drawing love in squiggles of light
when all else is dark

Small toes make big steps

Here is a small stone about something Ray Maxwell shared:

ode to a cute toe
is naming obsession and doing some big steps
in seeing ourselves in combinations

Anna Akhmatova's Poetry

Here is a small stone about reading Akhmatova on my tablet:

Anna's Russian crescendos
telling of guarded hope and secret sorrows -
she had never dreamed of the reader in my hand.