Bev Flynn's Blog, page 8

Wick

Roots and dirt and fountain inkare writer's garden toolsthey tress some wordson vines, to twist the limbs in language that is green.. alive then crowns, to ring the sticks and that's how you know their poem is wick

Atmosphere

Watt and heat and sentimentyou feel it.. in their wordsthe most inventive odesbecome the scent of one you breathe aura language whispers ...made of breezethat thing, that evolutions in your soulis the atmosphere.. of their poem

Carbon

tonight's impatience bends our linesthere's wander, at our doorstepas sun-hissed walls ignite these windowed wordsthere's wheelock on our visioninside these lairs of restlessnessI'm sure some souls ...conjoin, by nightas carbon silhouettes of light

Jaw less

Poetry is plot by atoms diagrammed to cloudsthey'res rhythm in it's confidenceit's light, can strike the soulit makes us suckle unknown cluesmeandered through the skyjaw less words - like nibbled pearlsour feed.. to stay alive

My Unreality

A stage of unrealitysome dove wings, made of memorya filtering of fire.. through these petals made of tulleit's curtain - runs the length of mea splitting real.. from make-believeI breathe between the surface of this dream

Tug

Furrowed Words, implantedonce held deep beyond a visioningtheir wispy vines grow swift into some centered lines of verseour summer hearts, impatientas the poets.. tug the stringstheir honed, concentric words are curious things

Moonbeams in the Portals

Nightly choreographyas ruts.. cut through the stars we wanderthru these centuries of stolen garden darkwe've shed our furrows, bornefrom heatthat left it's crimp.. upon our skinwe slow-ascend, immortalthrough moonbeams in the portals

Atoms, Dirt and Sky

The rain creates a scaffoldin these mission waters, framingthe skins ofpetals carved out of it's mist.We ache to taste a clarity that runs down stricken throats suffused with atoms, dirt and skywe build our words.. with this

Soar the Source

I ache to soar the source, inside this sunlightmy wingtips beatingthrough the leaf, and branchI'd cross that portal gone rogue -then storm through petal's mightand never look backin this dawn ..of an unbloomed life

Sugar Moons.. and Fuse

When words lie down, in the daywarmed beside an oaken sillyour pulseis set to flight the sun.. held up with tinny, wishful tacksThe honeyed night, sparks mad dreamsas raven - casts his runeand odd and risky poets ache - for sugar moons.. and fuse