Folded Word
Exploring the world, one voice at a time.
Tag: poem
The Road to Big Bend
Under an interrupt-this-broadcast gray sky. Headed west toward the quiet edge of Fort Worth the sky gets bigger. Deep in January the land is naked, exposing the razor burn hidden by the green in spring in summer. But winter is honest. And beneath the…
Folded Field Notes: SILENCE
Folded Field Notes : Join our community writing project exploring the ecological theme of “silence.”
To Be Tacked On Corporate Doors
A bird stands in heaven. Spring. Cold, still. Taking the day one sky at a time. How deep the beats of wings, how smooth the gusts that raise them. Beauty. Spring cold. The sky one day at a time. Beauty still. We humans belong…
Cape Cod
Life can be lonely, winters are harsh red-winged blackbirds sing in the marsh spreading the word all throughout May and on cranberry bogs, “It’s opening day” families bond in sandals and sunhats at kettle ponds, on trails and beach flats pairs of lovers, delicate…
I wonder what you see…
WonderFold: Inspiration for your next Japanese-form poem & invitation to share
Folded Field Notes: IMPRINT
Folded Field Notes : Join our community based writing project exploring the ecological theme of “imprint.”
Two Quatrains
Galley The oak sails before the wind, going nowhere. Its first autumn leaf picks the lock on its manacles, escapes: One more illusion of freedom. Lauds (2) A penitent crow puffs up and shudders, lifts his wings as the sun rises, letting light…
Five-Point-Two Miles
And so, I went walking car dodging, road hopping, side walking past a greyscale alley. You went with me, held me back when foot slipped into traffic and life flashed memories. She went with me, yelling about walking exactly two-point-six miles to the sea….
Folded Field Notes: MIGRATION
Folded Field Notes : Join our community based writing project exploring the ecological theme of “migration.”
Excerpt from WATERSHED
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…
The day you got tattooed…
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
“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…
