Folded Word
Exploring the world, one voice at a time.
Tag: poem
When the Water and Sand Dance
When the water and sand dance, whence (whence?) their music? What is that music? What sense, what composition surfs itself in? Yes, the water — its bazillion droplets, the mini-jetsam line it etches. Yes, the sand — its gazillion granules, the sponging gauze-and-muslin of…
Daybook
Sunday — September clouds trail the hillsides, misty fingers and thighs Monday — pancakes a little burned, gold leaves spend all their luck on scent Tuesday — you, a splash of yellow – you, the sun in the brook, our legs twined like branches…
Low Tide
At low tide I walk the sandbar Far out to sea Out to islands Of gulls and cormorants Leaving distant dots of people on shore. Terns dart and swoop Sandpipers race the tide The sea breathes Each wave exhales into the next. Immersed in…
Wishbones Wins a National Award
We are thrilled to announce that Wishbones, haiku & senryu by Ben Moeller-Gaa with calligraphy by JS Graustein, has won The Haiku Foundation’s Touchstone Distinguished Book Award 2018. We would like to thank The Haiku Foundation for all they do to support English-language Japanese-form…
Caravan
a tanka sequence first light of the eastern sun igniting the dust on my face: cowardice barefoot from land to land we search for pristine soil that satiates our souls bells tolling on the necks of camels this rhythm takes our deep silence to…
new moon, old ways
six minutes after dawn to the west of moonset in rolling Pennsylvania hills a full moon eclipses in the east where sunrise burns red setting daughter passes rising mother paths cross coming and going un-blue-moon drops from jet ink heights through blazing white light…
Late One Icelandic Afternoon
Not the holiday destination but Halldór Laxness the snow-wrapped mental angst of Erlendur the misty procession of longboats off Akureyi the past, the past, always present in the now that never seems to get noticed. How many people have passed this storefront window carrying…
Evolution of the White-Throated Sparrow
She could have made a different choice—Her blood parts, that is, her bone parts, parts
With complicated names, syllables hugging–Packages of sound on the siding of language.
WHALESONG
whalesong’s bow displacement weight longing ©2019 by Ron Scully Ron Scully is a professionally retired bookseller.His first two chapbooks,Listening for 13 Blackbirds, and Darlington Braves will be published in the spring 2019. He has given up on being the Yale Younger Poet and Wimbledon,…
