Tag: folded word

FRAGMENTS: From the Lost Book of the Bird Spirit

abstract characters on papyrus

Set to the music of bird flight, sight, and song, these poems, in the form of fragmented ancient text, tell a story of loss and the journey toward love, and acceptance.

Radial Bloom

abstract of foggy night

Our 2018 Mosaic Novel, this book contains a series of prose poems that spins the tale of a woman haunted by the unloosening tendrils of need and the man she braids from them.

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…

Bird’s Eye View

The people down there are walking on the concrete pavement, sitting on wooden benches, driving in their metal cars. The city is a constant loop of vehicles, smoke and smog, and noise. It goes around and around and I can see its shunted and criss-cross movement like the leaves on the tress see the ants below.

Wonderfold Winner

Our winner this month is “Summertime” written by Fiona M Jones! A big thank you to everyone who participated, it’s always great reading all the pieces that come in.

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…