Knitting Moonbeams
alone in the arbour
knitting words and moonbeams
poems for cold winter nights
***
knit one, purl one,
swapping stories with the stars
the warmth extends
Poetry
All posts in the Poetry category
Writ for Wed.
Published September 14, 2016 by Nan MykelDank
rhymes with
thank
and after he
drank
it was a cinch
that the wench
on the cable
had succeeded
to enable
him to do it again
on a whim.
The Transitional Object – a poem
Published August 18, 2016 by Nan MykelTHE TRANSITIONAL OBJECT
We were lucky, in our play pens
to mouth our blankies to ourselves,
connected to a piece of us,
still attached to the lifeline’s warmth,
its unerring stability
pointing to our own north star.
On the Road – A Poem
Published June 26, 2016 by Nan MykelSounds carry. Tucked asleep into my first berth,
I have no ticket to ride, no known destination.
Black-capped conductors, uniformed and faceless,
pass silently all night down darkened aisles.
The gentle jostling of the carrier and its faraway
howling are fast becoming deja vus.
Baby has a mouse in her mouth, but leave it.
She may need the protein.
Sprouting myelin sheaths encoding both
memories of dreams and dreams of memories
pulse in concatenation with the tempo
of the great clickety clacking conveyor.
Faces of inaccessible passengers
flash past on other lines, here and near, then gone.
Zhivago futilely bangs on the window
for Lara’s attention, then terminal separation.
Nan Mykel 9-7-09
David for Dverse
Published June 10, 2016 by Nan Mykel
DAVID
We always thought her meek and mild
until the day that she went wild
and fell in love with an antique Greek,
or should I say a Greek antique?
She gave a moan and then a shriek
that echoed through the whole boutique
and without a pause
with hands like claws
she clasped him to her ample bust,
moved not by piety I think but lust.
As a matter of fact he was scantily clad
and to tell the truth I think she was glad.
POOR HOUSE BOUND
Published April 5, 2016 by Nan MykelCreative Commons
(My library group came up with all of these prompts:) delicious, horse, croissants, eviction, pardon
POOR HOUSE BOUND
They decided to end it all—
This penny-pinching was no good
and so they headed for the mall
to see what their pocket money could
buy. Searching cheap yet delicious,
they hoped horse would be nutritious.
Two croissants finished the menu.
Their front stoop being their venue,
the landlord found them sitting there
looking quite satisfied, of course,
after they spent the rent on horse.
With the eviction delivered,
the old woman shivered
while her man gave a booming belch,
which he was unable to squelch,
saying “Pardon,” but his sly grin
grew and then got away from him.
FOR dVERSE BUT CAN’T GET ON THIS WEEK EITHER
Published March 28, 2016 by Nan MykelSIGH.fOR THE FIRST TIME THERE WAS A “magical widget,” and I had not the credentials or smarts to navigate the route apparently everybody else can. But I tried…
Haiku by Issa:
“Without you –
how vast
the cherry blossom grove”
My first halibun, and I had to look the word up on Wiki. Problem is, when I search
my mind and heart for a “you,” no one answers. May be no one ever had that
experience. The cherry trees are blossoming at this moment along the Hocking,
nearby, and I am a little sad, but it is night and cold and dark. Maybe the sun will
rise as promised, and I can be touched by beauty after all.
When cherry trees bloom
I know that the world is still
alive and lovely.
Words
Published March 20, 2016 by Nan Mykel
WORDS
Words can TOUCH.
Words can chatter.
Words can tell you
what’s the matter.
Words can cut,
splice and dice.
In other words,
be not nice.
Lying words
I’ve come to hate;
Embers dying in the grate.
Empty words like love
and forever
go poof like bubbles
In bad weather.
So what can I say
when all is done?
Add a grain of salt
To everyone.
Nan
MY METAPHOR
Published January 25, 2016 by Nan MykelCome jump into my arms, you furry-feathered verse!
I’ll know you when I see you, either wordy or terse.
Let your metaphor roll in like an occupying force;
sit up high in your saddle on your literary horse!
A shining black stallion, he snorts and passes by
leaving a desolated mule who gives a piteous sigh.
My metaphor has four legs and is not a happy guy.
He does not jump into my arms or even give a try
but nuzzles me as though to say,
“Thanks for waiting for me today.”
NANMYKEL.COM 