Unearthly Delights (2020 NaPoWriMo #6)

Unicorn rearing

Striking hooves, thudding.
Muscular shoulders kniving beneath me.
I smell horsey-sweat,
Bracing for him to take flight.

Unicorns, elegant rhinos,
Real as the toes on my feet.
Fantasy knubs under my chubby heels,
Until the fine hairs of feathers sprout.

We both, unicorn and fancy,
Take flight. Then the call to supper.
The unicorn lands in Bosch’s world.
I land on an earth void of delights.

‘Til we meet again

Comme on fait son lit, on se couche


My hope is a Lodgepole pine. Or maybe a Ponderosa. Definitely pine.
Sometimes smelling of butterscotch, usually vanilla.
Tall, straight, stretching, a fire-resistant skin, alligator bark.
It tastes of rough green and sounds like love.
Greta Thurnberg on the Atlantic Ocean is hope.
My hope is a sailboat on vast seas.
Walking the waves, fist high, tasting of spring.
A self-licking ice cream cone, my hope
Believes in global change, so hang on, here it comes.
“I have the best words.”
The best words of air.
Chilly puffs of concrete layers.
My hope leaps off the high dive just to feel the rush.
Max’s hope wallows in metaphors, saving her every day.
Hope will lead to love will lead to change will lead to safety.
Determined, hungry, un-obedient hope,
Linked arm-in-arm with love, the answer to life.
Comme on fait son lit, on se couche.
My dog told me that the crow carries hope on her wings in
The murmuring whispers of feathers landing on pines.

Kill You, Zombie! (2020 NaPoWriMo #4)

Virucene #20 (2020 NaPoWriMo #3)

Red-tail Hawk snow

In these virucene days when I want to walk,
I take stock of the stalks frying in my wok
And divert my mind to the freewheeling hawk
Watching for tiny snow creatures to stalk.

The wingbeats, soft rustle, parting fair
The thin mountain air, so clear, so rare
Muffling the despair, when I declare
That the stalks are burning in my cookware.

I think of the prairies, Willa Cather and weight
Of berries she carries for boys on the their way to war
And my worries, my furies, my indiscriminate
Adversaries fade out the front door once more.

Finally, when I’m only and pronely couching it
Lonely picking burned stalks, denouncing it
I squash my heard heart astounding it
And open up to the beauty’s encore