ㅁ The eagle circled round and landed in a hemlock by the river. Yellow beak and white head spun. A branch shuddered and swayed. So the raven swooped, changing her spot from a rock to a pine.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The eagle circled round and landed in a hemlock by the river. Yellow beak and white head spun. A branch shuddered and swayed. So the raven swooped, changing her spot from a rock to a pine.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The bones inside my head sit and wait. They enclose my meditations, Covered in muscle and skin. But they will have their day. These bones will emerge. Time removes flesh. They'll become Empty, White.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Sun and blue skies: an aberration. The rainforest is stilled by cold. In winter, here, clouds protect. They deliver slow rain. Without them, skies clear. The heat escapes. Snow lingers. Deer hide. Frost.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Words plow down hillsides and bore tunnels. They carve canyons in melting snow. Semantic rivulets form. The sun glints off meanings. Shadows are dispelled. Bits of ice melt. Ideas. Water. Thought.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ No Of course Don't tell me I have been rude I spoke out of turn The words came unbidden And tumbled down between us Like misplaced pets gallivanting In search of love that cannot find them
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ There is a rooster who lives next door. He gets a mood at five A.M. I don't know how he does this. He announces his mood. The darkness just waits. Unresponsive. Cold air hangs. Wind blows. Stars.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ So. They say the woman went up the creek, lay down in the moss, and was filled with sadness. The snows that fall are feathers which her son had worn, so handsome, but now he's been eaten by the sea.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ She asked, "How are you? Is it raining?" "Yes! the rain occupies the air!" "That leaves little room for sun." "But there are benefits." "Oh? Can you explain?" "It makes a sound." "And that's good?" She frowned. "Yes."
– a nonnet.
ㅁ sleep spirals pulls me down and attaches with small, grasping hooks pulls my organs aside trying to find my worries spinning them out like tarot cards reading the divination of dreams
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ there are the potholes, each day, gaping and smirking, tasting the trucks' tires
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ Tall, distant, hanging back beneath gray skies, a typical tree hunkers down and faces a glowering gale, groping the nourishing ground with its roots. The ground reaches back, lifting the tree up on its back
– a reverse nonnet with a small trunk.
ㅁ America's edge beetles downward, descending continental slopes, surveying seething waters, and removing her clothes, while whales bite her toes; she tumbles and bounds into cold, bold sea. Sea leaps up, seething forth, frothing, angry, grasping at legs, arms, ready to dismember the hopes and dreams of calm trees, which present themselves with aplomb - even a grave, introspective joy. Joy's easy on the jumping ocean: bits of water weave the chill air, the great boat's steel keel grinds, thrusts, climbs green-gray, kelpy hills and beats down the beast, the humped, formless, torturous, wanton foam. Foam wraps 'round, entangles her lissome limbs: she surrenders to the sea's suggestions, embracing the chaotic frozen surges of lost borders. The edge undefines America.
– a nonnets and reverse-nonnets enchained into a longer poem.
ㅁ clouds hover, grasping trees resolving doubts introducing truths pandering to aesthetes by concocting fractal curves odd turns of visual phrasing that open the mind to redemption
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ people are where they are it's hard to pull them somewhere meet them where they are
– a pseudo-haiku.