Thunderbolt

It hits me sometimes, out of the blue,
that even the sky catches fire
sometimes, that even these hills
are not immune to change.
The skip of a stone,
a rippled pool;
the beauty
that is
you.


This week’s submission brought to you by the yeah write poetry slam, where I learned all about nonets.

Piracy

Between this stolen ship and home
a promise made (a broken vow)
was written in the rolling foam.
Between this stolen ship and home
a breach too wide to cross has grown.
I toss a ring across the bow
between this stolen ship and home:
a promise, made a broken vow.


Peace

The War was over, they said. You said, don’t slam the door. Don’t wake me if I’m dreaming. Don’t raise your voice.

Night after night I matched my breathing to your measured steps. Maybe this time you’d come back to bed.

The War is not over.


Chameleon

Maybe tomorrow I will be made of magic. I will strike sparks from the sky with my fingertips. I will snatch sheep from the hillside where they graze. Tomorrow I will catch your gaze: a glint of light and then gone.

But today I am a fat lizard, all sinew and scales, contemplating a stone in the sun. I spread my limbs and scrape away lichen until it looks like me, that stone.

I watch, barely twitching an eye, waiting for a cricket to bound within reach of my tongue. I watch, I wait, and I think of dragons.


Idyll

On this perfect day
I watch you throw rock after rock
into a mountain stream,

Your words a constant flow, a stream
of consciousness; all day
I lean against this rock

and listen while the trees rock
the sky to sleep. Clouds stream
across the edges of the day.

What would I not give for another day, another rock, another murmuring stream?