Blog Archives

Without a Doubt

It is not What you Wear. As a stitch-thin veil. It is What you Declare. As a heart-spun tale. ~ I’d rather be a scribe of subtle variations of versification. Than to be a boisterous bard of flippant incantations. ~

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First Kiss

Waiting for creative inspiration to come is sort of like being a shy boy and waiting for your first kiss. ~ Make eye contact despite your fears reach out express your feelings and don’t worry if it makes you blush.

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Posted in Poe'ems

the Poet

the Poet … does not have a vocalist’s melody; to carry their legacy, standing alone on a nightclub stage. ~ … does not have a band of instruments; to strike their soulful innocence, upon a pulsing back-beated harmony. ~ …

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To the Point ~ Haiku

A new Photo Haiku poem. (a work-in-progress) The context here is intentionally heavy with ‘fusoku-furi’, or Japanese essense of metaphoric distancing; #1✔ …And syllabic structure of and respective of 5:7:5 phrasing (as in English); #2✔ …And there is a symbolic

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If I must Die

If I must die With my final verse In hand Then let it be A seed Of inspiration To other minds Of youthful vigor Whom might read Of my life And energies Spent For if I be known Nevermore Another

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Shadows of My Life

• I have written my thoughts.       Often as a feeling       Inspired by the urge of subtle meanings To give life to words. After living and then soon afterwards.       Will you sort through       Stuff that holds certain

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Emotion Contained

Just suppose we were to ask a sculptor; “what the clay knows”?, or ask a musician; “what the notes know”?, or the painter; “what the brush knows”? The tools of the artist; yield to a part of the work, in

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Satin Sheets

I don’t have a typewriter; my fingertips on lettered keys, the old fashioned kind of way… I don’t have a pencil or a pen; my thoughts I would inscribe, my restless mind keeps dropping them… I don’t have a sheet

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RGB

RGB Primary Colors of three. Draw a line And let it be Colored with life, Drawn by hand, from me. A graceful curve Splotches of sheen A shadow’s darkened cast, Brief glimpses of my own mystery. Blank pages achingly beckon

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Do Drops Desire?

Can we recall the first time? That moment of our realization; that initial release to these unexpectedly unexplored realms. Plunging freely within that moment; compelled onwards by our own momentum, a gravitational tug downward. Destined to become a fluid muddling

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I Sing the Volcano Electric (Poetic)

‘I Sing the Volcano Electric (Poetic)’ (written in an unedited flow of creative eruption – broken into 9 parts; with respect to the poetic work of the Whitman classic) 1 I sing the volcano electric, These crowded thoughts I love,

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Reach for the Sky

Ethereal sky blew Infinite depth upturned Above an anchored mass. Of living in place. Swirled assemblage of unclaimed wisps Past times of weightless assumptions Within glazed ‘blink-blinded’ reflections. Windows closed shut. Lofted airs plummet above Scurrying amongst built voids Of

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Sunny Sides ~ a poem of Springtime

Sun, it is a’set’in. Springtime arrives with hopeful intent. Bedtime has come, as prayers are said. Flowering bee’d beds, raise up their bloom’in heads. Happy, flappy birds begin the next baby birdy boom on every bud’ning branch. Starry, starry night.

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Dragonfly

A dragon of the sky With a passion to fly As if tethered by wing on the air. Darting, dodging, flirting flicks, Paired wings set upon a rigid matchstick. Backwards and forwards and all with much flair of dragons and

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Arrows Apparent ~ an IKEA alliteration

Is IKEA infinitely invaded by incoherently immobilizing inhabitants? Indeed. Arrows apparent… Marketing to the masses muddling the marketplace… Mumblings of made-up Swedish manufactured merchandises? Maybe a MÄRKLIG, a MÖRBYLÅNGA, or a MYNDIG might manage? If intermittent inlaid in-way indicators imply

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Another Butter

Peanut butter… Mmm… make a sandwich, slices of bread… Crisped slabs of toast, plunged up from slots, bounding up, so warm and so hot… Here’s where some butter would hit the right spot. I must find a butter in time…

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Steam Heat

In my aging Victorian era home The drafty sashed windows breathe In the breezes from across the streets. Floral patterns of parched wallpapers Skid about the thickened plaster walls; Bound by an earthen gypsum of ages ago. Dust-laden tapestries of

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A Pale Pose

• A Pale Pose Fleshy Cocoon Translucent Disclosure Ethereal Placidity Porcelain   Embracement Sculptured Repose Etched As Is • ~ an EWK Syllabic Sequence Poe’em   ©2016 EWK / Photo from Pixabay // Image enhancements by Eric W. Killip /// Syllabic structure

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With Absolute Sincerity

a Work-In-Progress poem… A story of hope, living, loving, choices, and of sorrows.

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Car Wash

Keeping up appearances is such a matter. Rivulets of soaps, soils and suds Whisked and whirling buffing brush beaters Patter sounding… thud, thud, swoosh and a swoosh and thud. Neon’ish lights dictate modes of indication. Steam hot water, soapy spritz

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Linger Longer

Time to spice it up… Lips Lingering, Lips, Like mine. Lick Lightly. Lips, Like yours. Lusciously Lock, Loving. Listening ears, Lobes. Lightly Linger. Lounging. Lapping Liquors, Loosen up. Late night. Lakeside Lodge. Listen to Loons Lament. Lights, Lower… Low, errhhh.

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Posted in Daydreams

A J’oak I Wrote

Here’s a “J’oak”… Two trees are sitting across from each other at a bar.   Swaying in a similar breeze, the guy tree uproots from his spot to transplant himself to another toad “stool” next to her.  He is sure to buy her

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Posted in Uncategorized

To Write or Not to Write?

To write or not to write?… Could that be a question? To write is… To express a way of looking at the world. To write is… To share your own point of view. To write is… To give a piece

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Posted in Poe'ems

If Only You Ask

From all directions and points of view, I hear a voice calling and drawing me too. I find courage, I find a source, I dare to run another course. Maybe because of inner tears, I dare of wonder, I care

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? = Happiness

I’VE GOT IT! The formula for ‘Happiness’ is: [(g + d¹) × (e + d²)] – (d³ + f¹) = (r + s ÷ P) >/= (f² ÷ P) × Today Where: g  = goals d¹ = desires e  =

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I dreamed I was

I dreamed I was flying. Over hills and valleys. Rising above. My spirit soared. I dreamed I was climbing. Reaching for cliffs. Seeking a summit. Against infinite gravity. I dreamed I was dying. Swirling tube of grayness inclined. Lightness casts

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Posted in Dreams, Poe'ems, Vivid & Lucid experiences

Never Meaning to Send

♪♪♪ “Letters I’ve written, Never meaning to send. Beauty I’d always missed With these eyes before, Just what the truth is I can’t say anymore.” … ♪♪♪ ~~~ I can recall many letters I’ve written, never meaning to send… I

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An Inspiration Anticipation Alliteration

Pen and paper, patiently poised… pending penning of potential poetic publications; pertaining to periodic perking of perceptive prose and purposes. ~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2015 EWK

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A Shot in the Dark

‘A Shot in the Dark’ BANG! … As the screen door slapped shut. It was a moonlit night. Not a full moon, a pale slice of pewter. Looking down at us. No one was around to be a witness. Warm

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Her name was Mary

Her name was Mary. Mary would carry baskets of blossoms and blooms she had picked that day from meadows touched with a morning dew. As the sun would set, she’d pin a red rose upon her chest. Her daily tour

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Mother Earth’s Daily Desire

Daylight comes, revealing the night’s slumber. Musky dew glistens in the valley below us. Eggs with sausage; morning’s daily hunger. Rise up, as your crops await their fertile moment. My strong hands will tend to plow once again. Plunging inside

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Poetry is a Building

If I could write to build you a landmark; I would write you a poem. Made of brick, and steel and stones. Something proud and tall, on the corner of your life. So that you may enter and see my

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End of Summer

Laying on my back-side at the knoll of a grassy hilltop. The sunlight streams at lowly shadowing angles from just above my ever-so-old, slate roofed, clapboard homestead farmhouse that sits along the timber-railed fence. This fence was built by my

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Posted in Daydreams
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