…actually, why not?
‘sooth to the apple long in waiting
loaded dice in the garden walled
hoping for want of alter-
-natives come to the mount
hailing the greatest of all
two in the step of an altar
leaves spread crimson on graven gold
sky speaking curses to the one in many
lives lived ceaseless, manifold
then in sunlight one asking maybe
a wrong word written read and heard
in the dimness of a night’s torment
many things have been spoken
but few, so few, foretold.
© 2015 threegoodwords
two springs flow
clear against ancient bows
those sacred curves
rushing, slipping
silent-secret in shining liquid
quenching the sun
wetting monuments of once hottest blood:
molten stone erupting
oozing softly to the shore, burning
birthing an island in virgin foam.
seasons passed unheeded
storms raged and poured
and jagged peaks softened
deep as velvet, curved
seamed with crystalline white
bright-mystic black
silent against the endless surf;
yet deeper, and deeper still: the living heart
blooming bright against emerald blue
vaulted high and crisp
an untouched world
singing light and brilliant with wind-beat song.
© 2015 threegoodwords
under the shower: a reflection
wet and bare
skin showing
clean, gleaming
pearls merging to wetness
steaming
as the water whispers on and on
arias sung alone
private unknown glee
later, dressed
sitting at a surface
cup in hand, porcelain smooth
eating what was made
by recipes written
private perfect memories
held in immaculate hands
bliss
.
©2015 threegoodwords
thus, written:
Zeph, my friend
you would know
of the greatness in open spaces
green and bright
between the words
and whispers
that moment, after dark
the hesitation
the palpitations
rising with the hand to light
hoping for beauty
to come true in impending dreams
that vast tenderness
that antithesis of night
.
© 2015 threegoodwords
simple thoughts
so late at night it’s morning
sometimes all you have
is a bed to sleep
and some food to eat
the sky is bright
they call it light pollution
birds are actually singing
sometimes all you have
is a lamp to see
and a book to read
the silence is so loud
i can hear every move, breath, beat
sometimes all you have
is that quiet space
filled with hope and memories
and then it’s clear, deep down:
what i have is you
not a dream
but the complement to me
it’s 3 am
and the birds are still singing
.
© 2015 threegoodwords
Words, images & collages tossed from a window.
Essays, notes & interviews on why literary fiction matters to human living
small press. great publishing.
but don't take my word for it
Home hub & scribble space of Prose Writer & Poet Kristiane Weeks-Rogers (she/hers), author of poetry collection: 'Self-Anointment with Lemons'.
A journey from one end of the bookshelf to the other
three good words 