Yesterday’s Moth

A cloth thread
it was yellow; shinning
bright steel blue
cob webs; recyclability
drips design retractable
and Tuesday received
buckets freely
I see a moth
from yesterday poems on
a blank piece of paper
cloth; thoughtfully pinned
inside made
thoughtfully re-read intimately
exhaust/senescent
tube; in my heart
leering down
it’s sinful weakness

My ears are doing-that
windshield-wiper
thing-slowed-down
wiping out
hands off; buzzards; leftover
ground down white wrapped yarn
the bones of a coat; hung hanger
wreck debris aged
falling of the bone
in waves; falling off the bone
in waves; it just comes
nothing hurts
it’s supposed to

 

Poem By Heather Whitley Gibson

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“It Happened Again” – Song By: Ronnie and Heather Whitley Gibson

Stop sign ahead, it happened again
breeze in the trees, tears in your eyes
it’s Cezanne’s Mt. Rainier,
balanced on his back, the time traveled to find
painted in solitude, the easel wedged between
the sand and the stone, it’s still time taken
colors awaken, it’s happened to you

the time to find, what he could find true
the path still taken, it’s happened to you
it’s the love, from a beautiful song
the imagined image
blinking eyes emerge

a bird parading, a light purple flare
happiness so near, the pain that swings
it’s warm pouches of clouds
silent strained, looking so slow, in water, in life
hanging below, the sweetness of falling
the shunted sunspot, lids slant shut
like a child walks home on a Sunday crawling
to find the unfindable tear

the time to find, what he could find true
the path still taken, it’s happened to you
it’s the love, from a beautiful song
laughing and loving
never forgetting the falling

the time to find, what he could find true
the path still taken, it’s happened to you
it’s the love, from a beautiful song
laughing and loving
never forgetting the falling

the song everyone plays
it happened again

the sweetness of grace

Take A Listen To “It Happened Again”

Red Balloon Rising by Laurel Blossom

I tied it to your wrist
With a pretty pink bow, torn off
By the first little tug of wind.
I’m sorry.
I jumped to catch it, but not soon enough.
It darted away.
It still looked large and almost within reach.
Like a heart.
Watch, I said.
You squinted your little eyes.
The balloon looked happy, waving
Good-bye.
The sky is very high today, I said.
Red went black, a polka dot,
Then not. We watched it,
Even though we couldn’t
Spot it anymore at all.
Even after that.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. Poem copyright ©2011 by Laurel Blossom, whose most recent book of poetry is Degrees of Latitude, Four Way Books, 2007. American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. Poem copyright ©2011 by Laurel Blossom, whose most recent book of poetry is Degrees of Latitude, Four Way Books, 2007.

“Long Lines” – Poem By: Heather Whitley Gibson

Open window; shining coffee
a paper curled, opening
newspaper dew
outside, the cost of cutting the tree
a shadow moving; edged, sun wet light
dropping fares
long lines
whole grain

leaving leavening bread; growing, rising
flatten silhouette; spilling wooden vault
the robin touring, still outside timing
walked away, redirecting, spilling sight
Drawing fair
long lines
coal-train

hidden; smooth gestures; timber into October
spray paint beneath a careful passover
over stepped sewer holes, round turned-clock, hues
tunneling underneath
sun clothing beams a light brimming, trim
Grooming hair
long lines
drawing reins in

a paper maker, palomino racing, ribbons green
wearing winning breakers, changing yellow fly paper
two twirling leaves hung like golden curls
catching an abiding ear
long lines
waxed, sticky & new

blue ribbon beer, honey bees, lemon Rhine’s
draining the compost heap, humming
turquoise-black flies wiggling;
like sea threw squid, dancers
spinning; a cloudy ocean deep
boiled words spiced
long time
holding salt, soupturine

Recital, a huge playing, green-bluegrass reference
clipping tool, agreement unmeant, hand holds
hands held, payment, original records
revolving door handle, real-a-state-knob
holding the payment tight
long lines
Play on the darkest night

Sublet, the unrest, grey sky, dulcimer
threw the armless; fire, mother kindling
year rigged, need needle memories pasted in place
fire places replaced the sun, fire moved the stations
turning the traffic lights
long lines
blurred rain

Song remains
in time, all the holes
in the middle
pupils pupils
recording call retained
thirsty names, puddles fused
words in your title
as we grow
we are all changing sizes
long lines
records records, a call

Night smears, long rhythm
warning mirror grains
grey sky entrails
evenly/cuffed/a plated bail
railing invisible fence trailing
cemented and armed
naming, out of the belly, poems
with warm sandy breath
need needle memories pasted in place
fire replaces the sun
long lines
try for rented space

Click On HEATHER’S POETRYPOEM

“Long Lines” – Song By: Ronnie and Heather Whitley Gibson

outside the cost of cutting trees
a paper curled, news paper dew opening
the band is working on the music’s timing
bluegrass, all the dancers are wiggling
agreement unmeant – with the sublet
hands holding the payment tight
twirling leaves hung – like golden curles
original records that play on the darkest night

recital plays a piano reference
naming poems with warming breathe

leaving bread while it grows and rises
a paper maker, ribbons green
as we grow we are all changing sizes

in the middle, pupils pupils
recording call retained the thirsty names
night smears the very long rhythms
out of the belly falls sky entrails

revolving door – real-a-state turned over
playing guitar – playing the dulcimer

needed memories needled in place
fire places replace the sun
long lines try for rented space

need memories pasted in place
fire places replace the sun
long lines try for rented space

in the middle, pupils pupils
night smears the very long rhythms
blue ribbon beer, honey from the honey bees
long lines at the traffic lights

Take A Listen To “Long Lines”