There is a resignation in the cone of a white pine,dropped by its mother onto a clump of dried mown grass,which I arrange among my collection of spent things, white sap coating my fingers in resinous gratitude. I remember when… Read the full article
Help me lift my head upthat I might see the full arc of the sunone last time before I fall I want to watch the black rat snakecurl her tail around the base of the forsythiaand pull herself free of… Read the full article
We will stay hereUntil every last petalHas dropped from our stemsIn honor of flowers plucked from life too soonTheir pristine white and luminous yellow and red and purple and orangeEtched into the memory of a fading blue skyOf day turned… Read the full article
Blackbird singing in the dead of nightTake these broken wings and learn to flyAll your lifeYou were only waiting for this moment to arise Blackbird singing in the dead of nightTake these sunken eyes and learn to seeAll your lifeYou… Read the full article
I promised to returnto the shaggy mantle of grassthat binds yousurrounded by golf courses, which should amuse yousupine, facing westward hoping to catch the sunset,at least it seems that way to me. I wondered if a gravestone had been laid,wanted… Read the full article
Morning The Sikh soft kurti flowing, glances up as he passes beneath the balcony His grey wood staff, tapping the pavement, thrumming to the center of the Earth The morning’s light flickers through the trees and the wind chimes a… Read the full article
I imagined papering my body with the translucent skins of onions, the unsweet scent shielding me from predators, a perfume of protection to wear under my homemade clothes. Running a fingertip through the slick of olive oil on the bottom… Read the full article
I remember meeting Miriam (Miri) Dunn in the earliest days of G+. She would pop into one of my threads with a diverse array of moods – quick-witted, humorful, biting, kind, intelligent, strong, thoughtful…far too numerous to list. We shared many… Read the full article
Under a mound of dirt you lay
I imagine a saxophone
Playing ‘Round Midnight
Maple trees line the road
Their shade saved for the living
While you lay beneath the blazing sun
When I was in high school I knew nothing of poetry, except a schoolgirl’s frustration at not being able to answer…
© 2025 Giselle Minoli
