Fragile Things

Posted July 8, 2017 by ManicDdaily
Categories: poetry, Uncategorized

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Fragile Things

Civil rights,
a neck, a spine,
a species.

 

 

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For Magaly Guerrero’s prompt on Real Toads to write to a prompt of pics and phrases; I chose fragile things. Pic is mine; charcoal and pastel on paper; all rights reserved. 

 

 

What I sometimes fail to notice in my moroseness

Posted July 7, 2017 by ManicDdaily
Categories: poetry, Uncategorized

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What I sometimes fail to notice in my moroseness

The corn
in the corner of your eye;
the joke that floats in that blue
trying to rescue me from mine;
the bird song not made by my phone–
actually I do listen to it–but which,
in the absence of the smiles that glisten
on your fingertips, often lures me
into loss;
the sauce that is your teasing
of my bemoan;
your seriousness that says, but we are here now.

 

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Poem of sorts for the wonderful M’s “get listed” challenge on Real Toads.  The drawing (kind of goofy) is mine also; all rights reserved. 

 

 

Not mirror

Posted July 6, 2017 by ManicDdaily
Categories: drawings

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Charcoal on paper, 2017.  All rights reserved. 

Some Color

Posted July 5, 2017 by ManicDdaily
Categories: drawings

Tags: ,

Charcoal, pastels on paper, 2017, all rights reserved.  

Drawn on July 3, 2017–Maybe Books Can Help

Posted July 4, 2017 by ManicDdaily
Categories: Uncategorized

Charcoal on paper, 2017. All rights reserved. 

River

Posted July 4, 2017 by ManicDdaily
Categories: poetry

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River

Then we went to the river
where everyone who has ever lived
sinks.

It is so silted in parts
that one might seem
to walk on water–
at least to the very young
who do not know better.

There we wept
understanding that those we had loved
were well and truly buried,

even if the sand that time had made of them
washed the flow;
even so.

 

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poem for Real Toads open link, hosted by Kerry O’Connor.  Pic is mine; all rights reserved.  

 

Aubade

Posted July 2, 2017 by ManicDdaily
Categories: poetry, Uncategorized

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Aubade

He died early enough
that there was time
for crying in the room
and listening to crying
before dawn shelled the
blinds, light cracking through the breaks
of tar and brick,
cobblestone and horizon, hill
and blue,
and though they were now done
with the hospital, they went once more
to the cafeteria, remarking as before
on the surprise of the food,
sitting down at a table shined
by window, before truly scrambled eggs,
which are not actually synonymous
with morning yet were
in their sunny warmth some link
to the ongoing availability
of goodness, murmured
about the wonder
of his life,
sad,
grateful.

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Here’s an aubade for Real Toads ‘Play it again, Sam’ prompt, hosted by Margaret Bednar, original post by Grace.