by

poetry: peach cobbler

last night i was a witch
running from pain
protecting my sacred hip
with a blade of fog

body like a crow
i cut through moonlight
clutching my cloak tight
guarding the hallow

morning brought light
stones tied to joints
memories of protection
shedding feathers across the room

until gathering peaches
i cooked them into magic
transforming them into smoke
bubbling over, but not burnt

tonight i’ll feed them to the birds
gathering them close to the fire
to help sing the pain away
until the fog comes again

*23/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic. 

by

poetry: you are moose inside light and i am amethyst on shelf

“I am who I am meant to be.   I am this poem.
I am moose inside Light.“—Neil

moose runs through stars 
now
playing tag with light 
his 
threads collect cinnamon 
pain 
turned to bottled milk 
absorbed 
within the belly of a cat 

amethyst sits on shelf 
now 
heavy dust collecting 
her 
dreams into bound pages 
pain
liquid rain sparks inside 
swallowed 
with another cup of coffee 

gravity loses its grip 
next 
dust blows off the pages 
both 
floating blue whales 
fear
quietly dissolved by salt 
joined 
in the belly of the universe

*22/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.

**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.

by

poetry: state fair

drink me, grow taller
fold tiny animals within my palms
give me cotton candy hair
churro sweet fingers
eyes of neon light

drink me, grow taller
wash my face in lemonade
throw ferris wheels in my soup
clouds in my eyelashes
gather balloons in my fists

drink me, grow taller
drape me in blankets of light
tie bells of memory on my shoes
let the golden bear stretch me
past the gates

*21/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.

**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic. 

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poetry: backrooms

hiding behind a teetering tower of chairs sits
chipped glass words.
burnt popcorn words.
banana slug words.

water-stained trunks choke them down.
wardrobes jammed against the wall.
floorboards nailed shut.

at night they escape.
muffled cries through hallways.
doors which don’t open.
holes in the floor.

don’t listen.
don’t look.
they are already in the air.

*20/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic. 

by

poetry: ink and fur

when my poem coyote hunts
it makes no sound.
hunger guides it—

a vibration like gnawing, like remembering,
like stalking white rabbits through thick pages.

once i dreamed it howled,
loud enough to rearrange my ribcage
into a den.

you were there, hunting too,
a thread tied between us
like a leash, or maybe
an umbilical cord.

sunlight pressed into our skin,
warming our fur until we rolled over,
leaving nothing but words
cooling in the dirt.

*19/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.

by

Poetry: Stone Protector

She looks like a mother holding her breath,
or a weathered perch for tired wings.
A cracked wall leaning forward
with a core of solid iron
stained by a century of rain.

She smells of windy peppermint
mixed with bristling feathers,
or a field of burning sage.
A broken eucalyptus tree
rotting in the summer sun.

Step into the shadow she casts
to place memories at her feet—
rocking bundles of dandelion breath
and broken rocks thrown downhill.
A kaleidoscope turning too quickly.

Give the soaked bundle to her
until the stone cracks open
and feathers litter the ground.

Listen to the wind remembering
what sits beneath the stone.

*18/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.

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poetry: how many more?


leaning on her staff
shuffling barefoot
she wavers slightly
heavy with the moon’s dark spill.

a raw star whispers from the foam:
tell me a story about me and the sea.

so she speaks,
spilling salt and history,
rocks rattling in her pockets,
strands of silver falling into green,

as dusk crabs scuttle home
and the sky becomes womb-red—
another cycle she must carry.

leaning on her staff
shuffling barefoot
she asks the waves:
how many more moons?

*17/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.

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poetry: where does the eye focus?

don’t say tangle again
say ravel, say twist

wedges of wings point north
my broken toe points in

don’t say try again
say strive, say aim

the tide rises in my shoes
say move, then move

*16/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.

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poetry: sunlightyou

saunterstep beside me
pretend you flashcapture
everymoment
ohthelightreallylovesyou
dreamyou 
beautybeautybeauty
wordslike whisperskin
foldtogether 
alwaystouching
sunlightyou knows howto
saunterstep beside me

*15/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.

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poetry: a square of sky

what would you pay for this bit of blue?
i will throw in flour dust
and a turmeric-stained apron.

you might find bent hinges,
snippets of moon song,
silver strands curling at the edges.

moth light and steady sandstone.

cloudy mirrors, well-worn paths,
watercolor stained jars,
books under beds, and 
hollows shaped by holding.

what would you pay me
for this bit of blue?

*14/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.