We fall back upon
the wind, thundering cavalry
and thrumming bow strings,
mud thick upon my charger,
blood droplets on my sword’s edge.
Now damp, nothing burns,
dead horses and shattered men
lie still and dark-stained
in the quiet aftermath—
once proud blades bent like old straw.
A Haibun The sound of the hawk’s talons as they click against the cement floor is sharp and crisp. The raptor moves carefully, head duc...
We have been dreaming in unison but those dreams have fallen into disrepair, eaten away by the persistent rust of the many days here...
This ringing silence this house, once filled a place of voices now gone silent, a place that once echoed with the laughter of the...
Note: I taught a poetry class at Fyrecon this afternoon, and we did a few challenge poems during the participation segment of the class. Th...