prompts: autumn winds dandelion poem blackbird tangling fireflies river funambulo ebb stranger hesitate

October 6, 2021 to October 19, 2021

from the new moon to the full moon in Libra

autumn, winds, dandelion, poem
‪Autumn winds
compose fire-pit scents
under dandelion parachutes
—echo bloom;
crackles underfoot

As trees discard
their rupturous leaves;
cells grown in between
life-giving stages

Deep discoverable mystery
unlike a poem’s
on high-speed internet

At noon, hiding her shortest shadow in alignment with the bridge, Maena followed between the dark images of the blackbirds bouncing across the water, ignoring the ripping vortex of shattering muck and slosh as the surfacing malevolent spirit lunged to tow all shadows underwater, leaving its victims soulless and forever staring at their own reflection.

In same footsteps/
wind & sun ‪tangling for our skin/
the weathered abrasion of a rock
we stop to pick up/ real weight/
shapes of polished angles
tumble to dents clove
from the whole/

Our fingers bump
across the crust
of our proud

My love’s eyes strike like a floodlight
When he blinks, ‪fireflies disappear
Every week, a brave new season
I’m just here, prepared—
I got boots, flip-flops, cloak,
sneakers, shades, change of clothes
Umbrellas are useless in storms, climactic
And the rain just feels good.

Our cup spilled
divine fem
whole flawed alien
Entire love
I could never be
but in that night of time
petalled revolution
bloomed execution
o the so-called weak
gentle tears
better part o u
I will singe us together
our cups will form a river

funambulo, ebb
Spored tears, at lashes tip—
‪funambulo cries
from ‪ebb of rope,
Moist moss untwists
quiet, fast arias

May the fire-lighters,
wisdom pre-dominant,
palettes & moss,
plan the burning.

stranger, hesitate
Our guards and guardians
have never acted stranger:
they hesitate, nip
at phantom peripheral itches.
Animal mom, animal dad,
do bugs live in your skin?

©2021 LAFogle / Lesley Ann Fogle

prompts: venture contemporaneous carved priors brash favorable alarm history fret rivulet aim crepuscular stutters shadows cemetery

September 20, 2021 to October 3, 2021

from the full moon to the new moon in Virgo / Libra

It was a foggy night. The smug was heavy in the air. Cere preferred the fog to the gas. If she had to venture a guess, she’d say this circle of hell was a repeating popularity pageant with the grand prize being the flashiest coffin lined with gold velvet cash-stuffed bedding and large enough to store the winner’s favorite toys and suckling gizmos. Cere had her money on Headuptheassicus, which was the nickname she gave Becky Green, the meanest and most popular demon at Hellmont High.

As the sunlight shortens in autumn,
the moon’s contemporaneous rise
extends the bright moonlight
for several nights;
a hard turn through the zodiac,
the Earth responds softly
while the summer crops
are harvested in light

These words, little doses
of dopamine, spill
onto the page encoding
feelings that range
beyond identification,
carved and contained
in the ink of description;
in the play of depiction.

Do we wring life from its spine—every drop?
Jump over the haters or stop
I see a vault line:
faults and blame, bias and shame;
priors reenacted,
posturing exacted
in the primal part
of the brain.

How long goes
the era of suggestion?
Get ready to jump

Her art made you think; it wasn’t explosively brash or cutting but just the tip of the tine limned through your mind exposing heavy artifacts you’d filed away, postponed as bigger problems you were helpless to solve. But obstructed by the feign of ignorance as doing nothing tips the balance of conscience toward inhumanity.

favorable, alarm
Above the clouds at our feet
If Love were a Titan, were
to step up on the highest
mountain, emerge
from the foam
neath the favorable
mythic moon;
the alarm
of humors
balancing biles of thinner air
We are the very atmosphere
How easily these bodies
breathe as it carries us home

It was the biggest “FU” ever recorded in the annals of history. Its echoes shrank the Great Barrier Reef down to a chew-sized crouton. The sheer profundity reduced black hole theories to petty overthinking.

Maena and I called him Gambusi because he looked like a worn one we’d found at a yard sale. The top fold of his rutted brow seesawed with each eye—the near-sighted one for glaring up close and the other for glaring at a distance—like a loose fret indented when a finger slides over it so that a higher harmonic rang with his every word, like the echo of a knife being sharpened, like the hint of screech when that same finger hovers close to a flame. Gambusi was wound tight—warped neck, too; his chin evolved back and down, locked, with no movement in that direction, just the side-to-side head shakes of “no.”

Blue Kill rivulet,
I follow you to the fork
on the banks where
my baby walked before

The water picks up speed
just before the tributary,
rejoins the mighty
between this widening shore

Said a man with his best aim:

“I’ll throw my hat in the land of milk and honey”

When the material veil had been lifted
his mind ran like fire ants

The sun retires and shadows lighten,
the wistful glow of our golden hour fades
Specks of light turn on like fireflies
while the deer, fox, and bat play
in the crepuscular twilight;
their cool blue silhouettes
evanesce from human sight

It lands casual
gradual macabre concern
then a want to share
pain all day
all day
of ingrained emotion
till you confide your
deepest stains

Then it neatly packs
both stories
and flies away
flies away

“While others accept impermanence, we do not conclude such bleak ways of thinking. Our bleakness is in the ode to death but not in its permanence.” A dark shape fell across Maena’s face adding punctuation in that we did not dwell on shadows as harbingers of the sun’s end.

If you, Death, were
at my cemetery,
I’d let the friction
of your inevitability
set fire to our effigies
as scapegoats for envy 

While the devil
repossesses our
earthly talents
that shake off
in the final dance.

©2021 LAFogle / Lesley Ann Fogle