What if what we thought we knew as obvi- ously true was false and clocks were not set forth by time but time passed pushed by throngs of ticks and tocks and days were not dic- tated by the speed of spinning rocks for spinning rocks were dancing to what ever length of day we […]Read Post ›
When our planet takes its turn to shield us from the blazing sun and shadows rise to strip the sky Her glistening body sparks our eyes at first with reverential thirst and now with wanton wanderlust. illustration © Lori Love
Neck in God’s grip Forcing me forward Well poised to lift Me up free from my world Imagining death Stubbornly sucking With all of my breath My head fills with dust
We’re all born blank, but as we spin a lens creeps brinkwards, sharpening our lives on us bit by bit. We yearn to fill with simple light, a golden spiral, smooth and tight to bridge us from core to brink. But what we get, in part, depends on what the great computer has in store […]Read Post ›
A poem that’s topical all too often these days. We are falling to pieces right when we need to be holding it together. Here’s hoping the great sustainable utopian omelette rises from our breaking eggs!
to count on my hands the times I fall into these linguistic traps that I dig to properly hinder my scramble for land I’d need more fingers I’d need more fingers infinitely.
Beneath a strip of sky so pure your faithful eye can glean what lies beyond your world, and in the few unfurling, drifting swirls of white decipher secrets hidden there – you hide amidst the swaying reeds and watch it closely. Cloaked in grey it stands so still and long on legs so thin a […]Read Post ›
When the sun, like a stone, skims the horizon and colours drain through shades; deciduous moths are sown shut. When H20s too hard to drink and the stars suck the heat from our bones; the flighty shirk their nests. When life itself one last mass extinction and the ground itself is buried; we cherish […]Read Post ›
The sands of sleep are not found on some beach But an infinite, timeless desert The depths of which we cannot reach In forms equipped to remember And there where we can shed no light Upon that heavenly mirror We gaze into its blazing might And fleetingly meet our maker
Don Redwood 