Purple's Platitudes

nothing but words …

smoke, trinkets, and incantations

18 January 2014




left on yesterday’s doorstep,

spirits appeased

grow restless from time to time.


a stick cocooned

in frayed, once white twine,

kite not included …


a brittle bird’s nest,


not through neglect,

but by love …


A tattered,

hand-me-down baseball cap,

when innocence was

stealing home …


I conjure ghosts,

and together, from here

to the bend in the road,

we laugh and cry together,

in unequal measure.


I curl my fingers, reach for smoke,

trinkets, and incantations.

Nothing can carry me back

across the chasm.

I sigh.



(for The Sunday Whirl)


18 January, 2014 - Posted by | Poetry |

No comments yet.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: