Tags » Utterances

NaPoWriMo 2017 #7

Glory’s voice, utterer, potter’s wheel clay culled of Crone Moon and Milky Way,

Starchild, do not seek tenders and hope amongst the colors of your visioned sight, 223 more words


NaPoWriMo 2017 #6

Bella Rosa Dreams

(for all my Sisters who have survived to rise again)

I used to come here to write … to find some semblance of sanity in this otherwise maddened waking world … today there are people squawking venom at each other and pretending to call that love … love grows on a willow trees, from welts the flesh  pleas while tied fast to the briers’ sting … you’d rather Cerridwen’s swine be dragging you through the cold December mud than pray your hand defend you in the fight for freedom … for that child has every right to bear dignity … oh yes, it’s still the mind bend of whips and chains, the stare of wishes into coffin remains that will greet you each day … black nights spent looking for a candle flicker beneath the doorway, from some enchanted creature who stole through the gates undiscovered … to shadowing their light on a darkness of your poems … perhaps, she’s floating on a muddled puddle reflection … the moonless night left when he trundled off to bed behind the castle ruins … dragons of chained for eating the neighbors cows again… she found a slip knot and shimmied through to bring me a single ray of hope … to weave catching my breath through curls and carry quietly … for when it all got too blue we’d pull it out and blast them back to the hell from hence they came… Tonight though, be it night or day it matters not for light never reaches us here … I am bound about laid out and powdered, oiled, perfumed, and laced up to view … to skew … to pile drive with out even a word … Tonight I’m yours to do … 281 more words


NaPoWriMo 2017 #5

Luna Love

The foul leave feathers for me daily in trails to gather … from the barn to the Iron Wood tree stand yonder … at the crest of the meadow hill flanking the logging roads … crevices are home to the Luna moths and moon beams … their winter homes in the catacombs … Christmas past’s silent seed pods … the morning stars descending from the heavens … holding ground bound cocoons in blessed rest … assured peace till April came with lip-less kisses … the caterpillars have hatched … soon there will be more to save and shade from the sun … their short life and love expressed in a quiet transmission … souls hear eons apart …

© 2017 cdd All Rights Reserved


In the Land of Paper Cranes

Honor reigns as the code of the rain in the Land of Paper Cranes … the unspoken behest of Grandmothers nurturing the world eggs beneath celestial capes of eternal down … flight wings of Spirit pressed between the woodpecker’s page gown lining their nest with light as children palm innocence … Here the bamboo moths quiver spun and quest, their life span willing metaphors … our fragile vapors searching for ignition in this land of forbidden flames … we all remain silk worm pupae attainment … where upon slip current pale veins often succor lotus stamen perfume and dreams die … sea, land, wind, or water fowl born demure and azure cored are we all … the truest trowel beak bill to web footed alliances yet descend from ancient egret masters … parchment creased folding crisp mountains to beg a valley’s hand … paisley kaleidoscope sand hill dancing twixt marble eyed maybes and wishes on the wings we are … those who want the breeze to take us gently as a duckling … bounce love on its knee until we all believe or leave the pond to those who … origami light by stardust mirrors when night has awakened hidden hopeful smiles …

 © 2017 cdd All Rights Reserved

Tunnel... I'm not the only one ...

A lake lies dead … sickness fills its gills at the ice’s edge … hurried clutter and cramped fur decaying abide … an open mouth surface sucking blue gill seeking the blessings of summer air … a litter moisture white flake scatter of two foot fair channel cat and their grass carp brothers in arms … they were ships in their former life … now barely magnetic worth in a pond of a sea … the eagles land when the strength of winter holds fast against the sun’s wobble spun proclamations … they fill their purposes with craven mouthed worm gills from death’s cold clay … 418 more words


We were where we thought to be ...

Empty palms may read mere molecular blinds … those scents Spring dares not harness when the lilacs vine … beyond bordered crimes heart held inductive spinal tines … we … originations of the arbor and the eyes wine seeks to know the soul through … how can our colors be mistaken for hues the sun forbid creation …  our magic muses of black matter’s time … my hope has held the dove’s anklet alone with no other prize … save the sweet and somber carousel of your reprise … host of Spirit’s own voice in rebel sighs … and how I live to hold a penny or a pint of this presence … luck laboring might find … scatterings of laughter, warmth, resign, to our being where we thought ourselves to be …


Bending to Your Fancy

Winter’s willing bride again cradles the looking glass which Spring, as maiden, held seeming moments ago … dewy instrument of visage fortunes, the lullaby of seasonal bitter brace … Her fair sun portrait now locked in Sisters’ crystal orb, birch lace, and paper mittened graces … She stands whole in the disillusions of Persephone’s interrupted resurrection … the flocked seasons of red wheat, Her crown … pale as the wash with which She holds time bridled, bitten, and seeking … Her soul engulfed in the creation of brindle frost and frond the Love only the Poet and His Poem alone are able to awaken and possess … He reigns over Summer’s fire and Autumn in its stolen wonder … She whisper’s to the night’s fragile ebony tangle … Yours … Now … Sometimes … and Ever …

© 2017 cdd All Rights Reserved