The Wabi-Sabi Writer

8/7I feelCool clean breeze through my open windowswhere my cat sitswaitingwatchingfor birdsfor the day to blossomout from the early morningmistI sitpen in handand my chat noirwaitingto bloom wordsout of the morning fogof my mind10/4Please come homeshe pleadsin the mid night darknessin the sloth of afternoonand most of allin the aching early hourswhen my griefconsumes mea vampire of my vapid lifeMy longingsits on my tonguelike rice paperadhering to...

C'est l'heure de la moisson des motsStay wildmoon childChoose JoyforBeauty is all of usParisestl'entrée des artisteswithinsand and fogbetweenamber and mossmad honeywaits on the tablebeBraveIts a wonderful lifein thisjoyful dirtOctPoWriMo 2022  Day 9*Translations: C'est l'heure de la moisson des mots - It is time to harvest wordsl'entrée des artistes - artists entryw...

Childprayyou will seeno angelin the skytodaycloudscloakthe watchers eyescreensvisionsthatlieSo turnyour gazefilteredfromrawscrapingskinsaltystingtowards the back-silverchild prayyou will seean angelin the glasstodayOctPoWriMo 2022  Day 8Original Artwork ©Jenni Astramowicz 20...

the sea surgesthe sun kissesthe horizonblushesberylthe wavesbarrelendlesslyOneocean"Picture a wave. In the ocean. You can see it, measure it, its height, the way the sunlight refracts when it passes through. And it's there. And you can see it, you know what it is. It's a wave.And then it crashes in the shore and it's gone. But the water is still there. The wave was just a different way for the water to be, for a little while. You know...

 She creeps inthrough dark hallwaysand dank alleysinhabiting my mind escapean Escherrelativismofendlessachingaskswhy didn'tIhear  her raspy sputumspasmscatchher covet-covert cachexiaseeher pallid childfacetouchher tender longfingerswhere I was warnednot to wakeyouwhere I was guttednot to holdyouI surrendermy sorrowmy sisteran oblationon the stone tablemy loveOctPoWriMo 2022  Day...

Knowing myselfmy questmy pathtowards a one hundred and forty-twopoint twoblazehunghighin the forrest of meI steadymyselfagainst the dampmossy barkof atalltreeonemuchtallerthanmeand find my balancebut what ifthis pathfamiliaryetovergrownwith root and rotsnarls and snapsbeneathmy feetan invitationto fallto failto forgetYetthatgrailcalls meoutI hear itin the foghorns at nightin the crow song at dawnin the breathy cadence of...

I am seethingstainedred red toothed my tongueblack mouthfulofFOMOand forgotten promisesas ifthe blatantfruitforwardplungeinto an unseasoned oakcasketpromisesmorethanthrustingheadlonginto the shiveringnameless cubeQuick!Steelawaythese gilded bangles lieDisgorgeyourselftastefreedomIf not nowwhen?OctPoWriMo 2022  Day 4&nbs...

 my intentionsswirland spillfrom the table of skyendless in the blacknessa voida dance I do all too well I spya red giantingloriousexpansionfrom a massivehot wet dreamwalking along the Seineone wondersas I wanderwill Iburnbrightas Parislightsatnightor will all my oncestellar notions decomposein this deep and dank oublietteOctPoWriMo 2022  Day ...

They say you can smell itthe promisefills the airwith burning wiresmelting plasticand the searingstingofchlorinecleanbefore the lightningstrikesthe sweet the sharpozone zinglingerslike perfumeasshe passes bya storm in the makingmoistandwarmall her edgeshumid with sweatandwantOctPoWriMo 2022  Day 2* Coup de Foudre (Fr)-stroke of lightning; a sudden unforeseen event, in particular an instance of love at first sight.*Photo...

I seekthe lightwithina wordwell writtenin the shadowof the nowdistantpasttensewrittenlong ago on the rottingwoodwouldhavebut did notit splinters my mindwith the thought that the end of the storiesare now soonerthan those firsttenderlineswordsspoken softlysolongago OctPoWriMo 2022 Day ...

 It is that season again  -   one that stalks the long shadows up side walks and weaves infamous fog around the city to curl up in.    It is the perfect time for an October Poetry Project31 Poems will be evoked over the next 31 daysmy words - unedited, sometimes rushed, often forced and perhapsif the muse is kind,beautifulJoin me on my poetic exploration of  all that is authentic by...

 TonightI sitsilentunderthestarlessstygian skyswaddledin 30 degreedownandfogI listento the kindling crackleas the flamesflickerwhite hotat my feetand all the storiessanguineand sacredspill forthon the stones         "Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves."Henry David Thore...