Category: WrittenWordWednesday

The Continental Woe

tea in glass mug reflecting the sky

surviving on peaches and tea what weary wanderer will walk for peaches and coffee ©2018 by Justin Haenel Justin Haenel Lives and writes in Vermont. He dabbles in it all, but gravitates towards the briefer poetry.

Excerpt from WATERSHED

painting of mountains and river by Randle Panfilio

A poem from Jean L. French’s collection — now available in Global Edition. Incanto I call the name of rain a secret name without words. A wisp of cloud grows all day it grows cloud gathers to fullness releases, whispering back to me rain’s…

Between April and May

Coyote hunts the streets like a stray dog, her claws clicking along the asphalt. Among the urban diaspora, her lean shanks and rusty coat look primordial or alien. Her teeth flash among headlights like slashes of white paint on a dark canvas and her…

The day you got tattooed…

puffy clouds in a bright blue sky

the air was thick, and the sky was locked between white and grey. When you lifted your sleeve, they stared back at me like magic marker on the kitchen wall… those markings that will forever brand my child. The ink on your arm was…

My Own Nairobi

colorized ripples on a stream surface

“How is it possible to bring order out of memory.”           ~Beryl Markham, West with the Night. In the mud on the bottom of my boots, I spot a flake of gold mixed in. I take a sharp knife and loosen it out staring at…

the sunset…

sunset over Grassington UK

the sunset unravels its cloak across sky . . . I wait for deepest night to drink my fill of stars ©2018 by Debbie Strange Debbie Strange is an internationally published short form poet, haiga artist and photographer whose creative passions bring her closer…

43 Years

close up of swan wing

I was 43 before I saw swans in flight I was born      raised I loved was loved      am loved I carried life in my swollen belly           in my grateful arms I saw my parents face time with grace      and without grace I have painted…

Elegy

Halfway down a plunging hill, out on a point at Sunshine, Dora Shepard’s sparkling house, foursquare, white, the finest kind, looks across the Thorofare. From this house, on clear days, you’d see sails, shoals, lobster boats, then blue-green water, all the way over to…

Earth Colours – a Haibun

slot canyon with moon in a blue sky

It’s not long after dawn on a clear autumn day, chilly, but set to warm up later. We’re at one end of the 2.5-mile-long Grand Wash, Capitol Reef National Park, Utah, a slot canyon on the Waterpocket Fold through white Navajo Sandstone formations and…

becoming more

long exposure of river rapids

what a good thing to be young and to call the creek behind your home ‘brother’ and to be fed by the same mouth and to spend the most fragile summer nights wondering how one becomes mighty and when — if ever — we…

The Quickening of Salmon & Years

close up of water bubbling

From this island                to that isthmus. Here, an egg.                There, a fish. As quick as that. Never mind swimming upstream, breaking       the surface                even momentarily. None of that wild fervor. You will not have cause to travel (the need’s been excised) so loll & fatten,…

At the Coffee Shop

soap bubbles through glass

Outside, a window washer watches me watching him, works a rhythm, window after window, simulating a seamlessness, tipping his squeegee after every-other downward stroke, coercing the water to run like blood from each overlapping pass, though of course he can’t touch my shining smudges,…