These frailties, piled upon
the husks of our rice paper
shell, this unsteady barrier
and we gaze up at our own
unchallenged, unscarred by pitons,
routes of ascent never charted,
ledges never yielding to the
tracery of bright rope,
for we have walked empty,
flat, darkened lands under
moonlight, insides withered
and dead, without the courage
to assail fate’s flat and remorseless
we, the slumped, despoiled remnant
of our own foiled intention,
we, the misshapen hulk that makes
mockery of all our younger aspirations,
we, the carrier of scars meant purely
to maim, but to leave alive and
suffering those legion who have
failed to dare.
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...