Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Monday, March 2, 2015


I am a kite
My bones are weightless
I wear my flesh
like stretched silk
No blood runs
through my veins
Just insert a string
in the empty circle 
of my navel
I will fly
like a ghost
And you, fearless one,
will hear
the howl of the March wind
as it names my pain.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Flash 55 Plus and
The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 201


Marcoantonio Arellano (Nene) said...

this in lieu of the soul the hovers o'er. ah, to be a kite and be tethered to a string held by someone that loves you and only wants for you to enjoy the wind and flight. well penned my friend


brudberg said...

When the lightness becomes so filled with pain.. somehow coming from Mary's poem to yours when pain is either light or heavy makes a very interesting contrast. Well done.

Ella said...

Your navel ring really got me and the ghostlike image haunts~
So, visually well done~

Kerry O'Connor said...

Exceptional poetry - you have brought the character of the kite alive despite the constraints of word number.