Bev Flynn's Blog, page 12
February 12, 2019
Trade of Some Time
I've read you, in the smallest thingslike the teaseof a tine of a snowflakeor the trade of some time.. for your poems.Even nowI hum your melodyyour words.. for me are never fully gone
Mothwings, Shells.. and Motes.
Words are made of fragile sinsof hidden risk.. or tearswhile some are made of mothwings, shells.. and motes.The harmony of writingcan be felt, within anothera reader.. plays the hostto who's haunted you, the most
Ghosts of Ages
Wintered sunsetdowsed in ice.. and wonderthe ghosts of ages smile, into the fire#haiku
Crystalline.. and Melancholy Poems
Crystalline.. and melancholy poemseach word melts, then bondsintegrating distance, with magnetic fierceness#haiku
January 17, 2019
Ode to Mary Oliver
Words that speak, of nature the meet of bark.. and iceonward.. in the natural a genesis of poems in the afterlife#RIPMaryOliver
As Yet Untold
Ventures poised as yet untold, to memorythinking up.. imaginary fines.The price we payexposing words, to surface the poet.. glides along the lines#vss
January 12, 2019
Risk
Words.. that take a risk beneath a sun in full exposurefingerpress, to fortune's wheelinterpreting the sound, within a wood.Tenderly,despite the gambler's shiver the Poet.. buds in winter
January 8, 2019
Before the Fade
Expression, is the challengethat beats within my palm the want to share release ..before the fadeso read me..as you face my ghostin words, we come aliveI know you've learned the force, beyond the phraseread me..so these feelings do not tarnish, to the page
December 21, 2018
Odd and Risky Minutes
As time.. slips past my phrasesI once held in my palmI balance, in release on the skitter.. of a cloud.Suddenly, you reach for mein odd.. and risky minutes of a dream.I cradle in it's echoto see.. just where it landsthere's much to be said for a safe pair of hands
December 18, 2018
A Poet's Taste.. of Lure
Ways I cheat.. my hungerby scrawling, on my own expressioninked.. upon a singular white web I substitute my wasting with sugared-bold, acrylic words.Hesitant, yet spilling forththere is no other curefor a poet's taste.. of lure
