Because the Taste of Storms Feeding Tongues and Sparking Word-Lust Is Freaking Irresistible

I tasted the storm
feeding your tongue and my ink
(pure tinder and flint),
screaming, “Let’s spark words of love
hot enough to curl hate’s toes.”


the (not so) wee note…
– I wasn’t going to post today because… well, I’m supposed to be resting. I tried resting… but my mind kept on tapping her foot and glaring… You see, last Saturday, over on Instagram, the folks of Blackout_Poetry_Challenges, um… challenged us to blackout a piece from one of our favorite Instagram poets. I’ve always been taken by @ip_writings. So, of course, I asked her if I could. She said, “Yes you can!” And I did. Then, I stopped by the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads and read Sanaa’s prompt. Dear Sanaa invites us to “pick a few words or a short line from a favorite poet” and… well, I’m a sucker for coincidences (which I’m convinced don’t exist). So, I posted the tanka you just read. Yep, that’s how my mind works. Pure madness galore.

my blackout poem

the original yumminess
(and I’m all with her, we should “brag about love… and words” always)
click on the image to delight in her poetry

Tongue Magic

Words glitter out of his mouth to lick me from brain to soul. His tongue-treasures caress and cut through the well-fed neck of social okays, until the inside of my Muse can’t stop brewing tales that howl poetry. Once upon a midnight that wasn’t as dreary as it was hollow, language was a system of black and white scrawls that taught without touching, then he came (like a lie that knows fictions can be real) and made me feel words.

He spoke magic.


the wee notes…
– April is the month of fresh and wildly wondrous. It birthed me (and all my modesty), didn’t it? So, in a burst of riotous impulsiveness that would make any Aries proud, I’ve decided to celebrate the cruellest month by collecting old bones and fleshing them into something new. So, my Wicked Luvs, say hello to my first Blackout-Prose poem. Just like haibun, but the ending is a blackout. If the form speaks to your muse, I invite you to give it a go. 😉
– I skipped the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads on April 1st. Then, I read, “let’s celebrate our love of poetry… with a chaotic cacophony of words and verses!” I’ve never been any good at refusing chaos, so I accepted Marian’s invitation “to write poems about being first…”, conjured a speaker falling in lust with words for the first time, and linked it to the Tuesday Platform.
– I borrowed “Once upon a midnight dreary” from “The Raven” … Poe told me he didn’t mind. But that mad bird hasn’t stop following me… or glaring.

To Warm Me

She is a monster waiting to swallow the world. Really. Look at her (maw at the ready, lips as sharp as blades) waiting to bloom into something bright and beautiful that promises to take your breath away. Fine, so she will keep you from breathing by being all stunning and stuff, but your brain will still starve for air… um, I might’ve taken this metaphor a bit too far *cough*.
Anyhoo, from this angle, doesn’t my amaryllis look like a glorious monster about to swallow something whole? At first, I wondered if she was working with Cthulhu, but… no tentacles. So, she’s probably a free (freaky) agent.

Yes, my Wicked Luvs, you are correct. This is how my plants and I survive winter (and those long…….. periods between recovering/healing and more medical procedures to come—we birth tales, giggle and cackle at wondrous (if silly) things. All right, I tell the tales. But my plants are great listeners.

to warm me and mine,
I (will) spring stories
out of snow in March

in my urban woods,
limbs stiff but spread wide, I wait
for the kiss of spring