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For Rest


epiphanies

shed light,

and

sound light

but aren’t

(light)
 
 

–they’re weighted with truth

and time spent recognizing

such heavy, hidden creeds

In the past,

at impasse,

and on paths

treading restless mile

I’ve found feathers to mark

chance revelations

–flights of fancy grounded

before angels stood guard

and today when

a quill charged with breeze

drifted down from heaven

to land

precisely

in my hand,

The truth of my thoughts

was validated

–gold standard validated, and

piggybacked by realization

the most sacred insight

remains

unspoken.

 

 

 

 

Before the Wind

. . .

Charron's Chatter

dancing_skeletons

skeletons

(in closets)

or out

–bones just can’t tell–


how their lives might have been…

if cheekbones

hollowed before

harvest

or bloomed,

if sockets ran rivers

or shone,

if hips

danced or

trudged a lone,

if ribs held hearts

broken

or whole,

if blades

squared

or

bowed,

if heels

dug in

or achille’d

if arms held

or kept at length.

–bones just can’t tell–

the story

behind mortal weaks

of flesh…

©Karen Robiscoe

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Really-Silly

If punctuation was animate,

underline would be that nosy, gossip person

–lurking nearby trying to overhear, and making too much out of things.

Italics would be an exotic foreigner, speaking with an accent, and unfairly favored because of this.

The bolded ones would be fat. Loud-mouthed and opinionated, they would hang out with ampersands: &

Hyphens would be your home-boy, your drinkin’ buddy, and bro’

droppin’ g’s, & comin’ up with the latest slang-thang alla time…

–the M dash would obviously be in a hurry to get to the next sentence–

and the exclamation point would take things personally! ‘Would make mountains outta molehills, and twitch! ‘Dropping things from pockets, and dropping more when leaning to retrieve those things!

The period would be boring. ‘Would be a nine-to-fiver, with pens inna breast pocket of a short-sleeved dress blouse.

the question mark would be curious, obviously, perplexed by Q’s, and the philosophical ones would be perplexed by A’s, as well. These would be the long-winded ones, and really? I think that redirection would stem from subconscious resentment of its hump-backed state…

and the ellipses would go on and on and on—kinda like this—and never know when to stop…

 

Final thought: why doesn’t punctuation incorporate itself into its term?

Example:

a’postrophe

hy-phen

em–dash

exc!amation point

et-ce-te-rah

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/willy-nilly/

 

Righting Rite

No English major,

I spell magically.

intuitively.

with extreme alpha’bet

and reading method

that can only be called

deconstructive,

I see more than
 
 
charms in characters

signposts in words

stories in verses

–I see alternate reality—

not make believe

but belief made

entirely

from scratch–

–chickenscratch

and that’s why

it’s best to forgo

vexing.

And hexing

and otherwise cursing

beyond 4 letters, I mean,

since writing itself

is the abra

cadabra.

the incantation,

and potent spell

that changes

heard and crier

from

sheep,

to wolf,

and back again.

Mrs. Gecko


 
Liz was a brain

–and approachable

so approachable–

so hands-in everything

(that’s what I heard)

but Ma’am

was the opposite
 
 
–alien in her rigid

manner

for all she was brainy, too–

she dictated!

directing

via

internal GPS

–recalculating

forever recalculating–

routes she shoulda took the first time,

making her bluesprint

easy to discredit

a scandal for which alien Ma’am cried

alligator tears

yep, the real deal

–an arrangement of which only Ma’am alien emoted–

Liz all busy gettin’ busy

. . .

rollin’ eyes

droppin’ jeeZ,

and diggin’ in.

Her sheer carnality

irresistible.

 

 

T Bones


I threw a

T party

which went well enough,

it’s just…

well, it was hard to pour

that letter into cups.

The crossbar stuck out

like a swizzle stick

making sippin’

somewhat dangerous

(like it wasn’t steep enough already!)

and when I

poured

2…uh…

T’s well,

it changed the whole dynamic!

Made T party

a T-Bar,

and who orders T in a bar?

Not to deride T, but really.

It’s hardly hardy

and almost

never

kills ya.

O.

O is the best letter

in your cups

–I’ve found–

since even when you

stir it,

it swirls–

–coming full circle.

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/tea/

 

 

à la monde


 
Cake.

All I want for

my birthday

is cake.
 
 
without frosting

minus icing

lacking cover

of any kind—

cake.

Warm from

the window sill,

and hot still

–inside

a mushy surprise

missing lava—

cake.

I don’t want cupcakes

–with jimmies

I don’t want

petit fours

–with so much

to-do

I don’t want

pops

–stuck up the middle—

cake.

All I want for my

birthday

–is cake.

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