Issue 11.1 – tinywords

Winter Stars

My neighbor fills her winter garden with oaktag cut-outs of red and yellow stars—hangs them from her bird feeder or glues them atop the planting sticks she’s

owl?s call sounding the depth of a winter night

moon eclipse— he asks again what day it is

dead of winter a wraith from the dryer vent drifts through the fence

snowstorm even the stoplights slow down

painting class children color each other into laughter

the snow before it falls white sun

Stalin’s statue in his heart still stone

midwinter night light from the snow the stars

Black Dog

“You know”, he confided, “I want to walk in front of a truck. My little girls would be much better off. I am the reject of the family. My wife tells

a last rocket… lights twinkle into the New Year

snow flurry on an empty street the traffic light turns red

Faster and Faster

20,000 years on average from the Sun’s core to its surface. About 8 minutes and 18 seconds from the Sun to Moon. One more second from the Moon to Earth. crisp night

sculpture garden— new snow on her marble breasts

late afternoon— a glimpse of sunlight through her hair

low tide the silent contractions of a jellyfish

empty nest

empty nest still the bird sings

For Two Horses By the Fence at VCCA

They stand there, side-by-side, seemingly unmoving, gazing off toward the mountains. Now and then the darker one slowly turns his head to look at me, one brown eye

midnight fog the street light a silver dandelion

The fountain’s too lucid moon—just inches above a litter of leaves.

snowmelt… a woodpecker thrums into thin sun

white phlox blossoms daring the frost

night sky the rusted tin roof leaking moonlight

walking back the way we came shadows shift

stuttering light the sound of tea being poured

a sliver of moon she asks if he really exists

street preacher the hooker throws a few coins in his hat

Float

Thousands, perhaps millions, are floating under the sea—jellyfish, and shaped like umbrellas. But she looks different. She reflects purple and silver light.

almost no delta at the mouth of the river— forgotten dreams

lamplight… my shadow softens with each step

Lent

On the ceiling above my bed i pin a pin up of her naked shadow

on a bare twig rain beads what light there is

iridescence of the dogwood leaf— autumn moon

winterlight a blur of birdsong in the air

slipping in beneath the kitchen door —first sunlight

a jarful of coins from faraway places winter stars

low tide we run through the clouds

drizzle and mud— sparrows sinking deeper into drab

through the skylight only we can see these stars

gleam of cattails and a high half moon

the news no one wants… waning moon

his recent poem carves a canoe from a tulip tree—starlight glistens in the spray of the ebbing tide

black cattle among the trees heat lightning

haiga

flash of yellow a butterfly headbutts me in my work break

no moon looking outdoors into snowlight

family gathering talking of dogs long dead

night jog— sparks from a train rounding a turn

the rabbit’s ears translucent at dawn

sun through the syringe— red red poppy bloom

day’s end refilling my wine glass moonlight

a firefly’s glow against her palm passed to mine

graffiti sharper by moonlight

up to the summit up to a hawk’s cry up to the sun

Issue 11.1 Credits

Issue 11.1 of tinywords is now complete. There will be a brief pause while we read for the next issue, which will start in late April or early May. If you’d like