intoxicated / by fragrant purple lilacs / in a blue Ball jar.
~Me, Twitter haiku
|
|||
|
Because sometimes I have so much to say I cannot speak at all. Because sometimes it hurts so much I can only smile. Because sometimes I am so alone I cannot be with anyone. Because sometimes I am so empty I choke on it. Because sometimes there is so much to do I cannot . . . → Read More: Why My favorite stanza in the poem I turned in this week for class: The cats are glad it’s spring. They shed fur like a bad habit And puke joy. After thousands of years, These hills still rise like swells against decrepit shores. Mountains depart valley on a voyage toward skies Shrouded gray with winter. At morning, chickadees cry warning from the chokecherry trees. And the deer periscope above undulating grasses. Night, eyes become phosphorescent beacons – Sirens and coyotes ring out in . . . → Read More: Skyline Sailing
Blue sky. Sweat. Hills like a cupped palm. Blanketflower. Lupine. Fairy rings and cow wallows. Dalmatian toadflax. Butterflies. Fawn leg bones. Whir of gnats. Rock piles and wild roses. Coyote den. Magpies. Snake. Sss. Barbed wire and fenceposts. Ponderosa pine. Flash of yellow wing. Salt lick. Beetle-pocked cowpie. Rusted trough. Hoofprints . . . → Read More: Early Summer, Montana |
||
|
Copyright © 2012 Patia Stephens • All rights reserved |
|||
Comments are closed 
