Wednesday, December 16, 2015


(Icarus III, oil on panel, by Katherine Stone)

Dash this heart
against the rocks--

the lack of urgency

terrifies me.

I'd rather splatter,

shatter, be Icarus

than exist 

another minute

Like a songbird


in the hour
before dawn,

and everyone


Monday, December 7, 2015

100 Words

Blue door, shutters

We’re born with one door that’s open to the world. 

And by parlaying curiosity into experience, we fold more rooms into our selves. More rooms, with more doors, so the wind might howl through, occasionally reshuffling the blueprints themselves.

But then, it happens. 

A resistance steals in, quietly. Closing the doors.

And the effort to open them—or to remember they were closed—becomes a blockade.

We shrink. Get rooted in. 

And the wind? 

It might rattle some panes, before moving on.

But not his, she thinks.

Not him.

He’s young because he's kept the doors open.

She goes in.


Another 100 Words can be found here