Posted tagged ‘Flash 55 poem’

Indian Wrestlers, So the Clay

January 3, 2016

Indian Wrestlers – So, the Clay

one to the other:
who will win today?
the man who makes the bets–
no, the man
who takes the bets
and though it knows
they’re but dough
to those men–spittle and small
acumen, ghee and
out the pit, each
peoples parts, bruise
and broken nose, hearts
rib-caged, eyes, I’s.



Another 55, rather a draft, for Kerry O’ Connor’s prompt on Real Toads to use a photo from the 2015 National Geographic contest; the above taken by Alain Schroeder in Maharashtra, India, of Kushti wrestlers. 


December Morning (55)

December 6, 2015

December Morning

The frost sprouts violets in the field today,
seeds stars,
makes proof of the universality of
the universe–
that is, what I saw in the sky pre-dawn
now shows itself
upon the ground.

In the sparked blinks
of that bright dew
how can we fear
we who so long
to be found


Here’s one came out in 55 words first go–I did trade a couple of initial words “after-go”–but it really kind of arrived. Unfortunately, it is really hard to capture a good picture of frost.  The one I am posting shows it furring apple trees and not the glisten.

This is a second poem for Hedgewitch’s 55 prompt on Real Toads, based on holly and ivy and pairing–I can try to justify this, but will just apologize and post.  k.

August Night

September 5, 2015


August Night

The mist would not show
the full moon, but glowed
outside the window
like snow just fallen
and about to fall,
the night both pale and flushed
as if it had snuck out to a dance
for which it was far
too young, shoulders swathed
in a stole borrowed
without the owner’s knowledge–


55 for Kerry O’Connor’s prompt on With Real Toads. (It was also my first try for Hedgewitch’s tonal prompt on Toads, but couldn’t quite decide it was done.)   Pic is mine; all rights reserved.



Not Bird (55)

July 4, 2015

Not Bird

I swung into the early
of my life, pumping the vine-veins
of its woods with sweat-salted limbs
that could rewind,
I thought, warped

Swallows swoop
to rise,
but what humans swallow,
they tend
to keep down.

Too much of my flight
a fleeing,
soars sorry, fleeting–you
not there–
nor me hardly–


A 55 word poem of sorts influenced by Dante Alighieri, poet of The Divine Comedy, for Kerry O’ Connor’s prompt on With Real Toads–

The pic is from the recent Plains Indians exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC ==a ghost dance drum.

You Learn

June 6, 2015

You Learn

You learn, if you’re lucky,
that no ‘happily ever before’
can be forged
from a ‘happily ever after,’ much less
an ‘okay now;’
childhood dance lessons not
retroactively rejectible,
nor will the mirror where hips swiveled
with an inner light.
Oh, heart, that wants its forehead soothed,
you must push
your own bangs back.

A poem that was 55 words first go; I am posting for the Real Toads Flash 55 poem, hosted by the wonderful Kerry O’Connor.  There were supposedly bonus points (ha!) available for using jumping off an aphorism from Daily Quotes, but all the aphorisms here are my own.   As is the drawing.  (All rights reserved.) 



July 6, 2014




I let my tongue slip–
I think to whip
some moment into shape–
but it flips out, flop,
sloppy eel, pink as a weal
of scar, blinking
in any brightness.

It won’t re-swallow
so I tug the big lug
over my shoulder
trailing a fug
of mouldering
i really didn’t. 


Here’s 55 for Mama Zen’s prompt on With Real Toads.   The drawing, such as it is, is mine as well as poem; as always, all rights reserved.