October 9, 2008

October 7, 2008

October 6, 2008

October 5, 2008

  • 10101

    when you want to hold 
    your heart's heart  
    so much that the lock on your chest

    bursts,
    and the squeaky hinges of this door

    scream,
    you cry with happiness and grief
    (and grief, and grief);

    there is only the earth
    and your knees meeting it
    in parallel collision

    and embrace

    and not relief.



     

    © JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

October 3, 2008

  • 10100





    this winter: 

    it snows here,
    lakes freeze,
    i drive on ice.

    i sit in the hot
    bath tub,
    drink beer,
    read about glaciers
    in alaska.

    the only snowshoe
    that fits
    isn't my size.

    i write in six different
    notebooks,
    crude scribblilng
    about a catch in breath,
    that trapped sign.

    murmured
    colors that suite
    glazed looks,
    braided,
    intertwining ideas
    passes time.

    the world is blue;
    underfoot crunches.
    i chew on
    the long day,
    muse on movement,
    observe tides. 

    this is
    the universe-accordion.
    this is
    the color book of life.
    this is
    where i slumber,
    trudging snow,
    restlessly, by moon
    in the night.

     

    © JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  • 10011

    take this specimen. 

    can you see
    how
    it has this exoskeleton

    protection,
    an armor

    it could be a talent
    and/or
    it might be a tactic 

    an ego-operative

    fitted and thwarting,
    stealth,
    incognito

    to examine we must ...
    look here, please! 
     ... disect.

    if you could
    turn up
    the lights just a bit

    ah, yes, that's better.
    thank you

     

    © JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  • 10010

    Haiku for a haiku.

    Immediate cheers
    The clapping grows to applause
    Standing ovation

     

    © JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.