Standing among the teachers, I waited awkwardly in their observation. The air was thick and warm, my feet sinking into the dew laden grass below. Exposed, I waited, forced into patience for the final words to be spoken.

Approached, one knocked on my chest and called out, “It sounds hollow!” and returned to complete the circle.

They closed in, reducing my circumference. Handing me a stick, still covered in jagged bark and last seasons leaves, they moved me toward a great pine tree.

“Awaken and describe the bird that sleeps within.” whispered the wind into my ear. I moved toward it, encumbered by its size. Circling in a paced delineation, I decided to move underneath. Crawling on a bed of dried needles, my skin tearing at their prodding, I tapped the branches to cull the bird and get my assessment underway.

I heard its wings, flap in disturbance and apologized for my interference. I continued in my beat, hoping to at least catch a glimpse. Round and round I went, only agitating its slumber and making it wince. When finally a ruckus, an explosion came forth. Eye to eye with the white spread wings I asked it for any hints.

The stillness ended with a charge of her beak, bolting for my chest the bird was suddenly inside me. I returned to the circle in a hurried rush. “Its inside my chest!” I called out, unsure of my next step.

“Now learn what it looks like.” they replied, turned and left.


inspired by the prompt “it sounds hollow” at typetrigger.com


fragile paper flesh
torn, folded and copied
wadded distress
corners turn curve

pressing front into back
converted from
into mass

dimensions of one
forming multiplicity

weighted metal depth
imprinted face
a pocketed jingle
without my crease

A couple of wonderful groups, Facial Expression Poetry and dVerse Poets Pub recently had prompts around the thought of  change. It was a prompt I enjoyed and although I missed contributing at the time, I knew I wanted to pen words to the theme. My thanks for the inspiration to these great groups.

Contributed to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub
follow this great group on Twitter @dversepoets 


Sitting on the curb, I was eating my basket of tacos from the umbrella flagged street vendor. The perfect melt of grease and cheese soaked the tender flesh, seasoned with the perfect layers of chile mesh.

“Perfect moment!” I thought to myself as I absorbed the oozing mess into my being. Consuming my surround,  I looked left then right, seeing no onlookers into my day. Isolated in the masses of crowds, I watched through invisible eyes into their bustling way.

Triggered by an engine knocking free, I turned forward to meet invisible eyes with someone who was watching me. I felt a rise, first in my heart, it told my stomach it was okay to flip. Pulled in our mixed gravity, an instant meeting of our lips.

Forward to forward we targeted each other with precision, our approach purposed as if with a higher vision. We stopped at center, our edges giving a slight singe as they met. My curves matching his way, we snapped together, the last two pieces of the puzzled played.

The final border of our storyboard journey set in time, we fill in its center by coloring outside the lines.

Inspired by the prompt ‘tacos’ at typetrigger.com


What was I to do with these effervescent bubbles? Each a bursting tickle release adding pressure to all that I had corked. Encapsulated myself in pharma to no avail. Nothing squashed its resilient desire to erupt.

Battered corked barrier finally gives to the screw. With each turn, fragments break apart falling into collision with the bubbles below. Chain reaction ignites as the twist and fizz work in unison, expanse of foam rushes toward the opening hole.

Final tug of thought, passage free to all that demanded a pass. The ever loyal bridge troll washed away in waved questions and torched pickets. Tower of rush arching its dive into the current reality, splashing against the floor below.

The last of its inertia spent, the flood empties into flattened silence. The end of the scene leaving only me to drown on my knees in its 3 inch puddles.

inspired by the prompt “corked” at typetrigger.com


I was the black charcoal eye amid the blanket of stark white snow. The smear of imperfection among the purest of water’s glow. Roaming, I left a track, the only trace that I existed. It slowly covered in each season passed, with the guilt of all that I twisted.

I plowed through the thick mass of icy sting. Losing each sensation under the miles gained. Trudging a labored trench until I was numb surface to bone. Along the way, a forgetful notice of my trail turning from black to gray to none.

Happening upon a break of the common, my eyes met a patch of porcupine trees. In a clearing of all that was my surround I took a moment to listen and see. There I saw myself, polished off  from all that I used to know. Tip of tongue catching flaked thoughts as white as new fallen snow.

Inspired by the prompt ‘snow’ at typetrigger.com

Wearing Orange

Sitting in a puddle of oily red compost, turning chestnut soil into crimson pond.
Bleeding, it creeps against gravity and crawls toward my goldenrod center.
Mixing into a whirlpool of primered knowledge, fired soul flashes wearing orange.

Inspired by the prompt ‘wearing orange’ at typetrigger.com