Monday, November 1, 2010


sandalwood sawdust skin
you creep into my poems
and tread the borders
of my psyche.

your familiar scent:
brushfire on highways,
flyblown bushes,
the haint confusion
of manna and falling birds.

I would write I love you,
but that does not conjure you
in whispers.

*I'm participating in Novpad with a few modifications. 

1)I'll probably only participate Monday - Friday. 

2) My focus is on revising poems rather than creating new ones.

3) I will add new poems. 

4) My goal is to stop the bad habit of writing poems that stay in my notebook never to be published. 

5) I'm using novpad to practice self-editing so I can send these off to markets.


  1. I like this poem. The first stanza especially.

  2. I also like this one. The first stanza and also the last--particularly the last four lines. I so rarely see/hear anyone use the word "haint." It was a word my grandmother favored.

    Nice work on this poem.

  3. @ev

    Thank you


    Thank you. It was called something else before but the word Haint just does it for me.


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