You see blood black
yet, I am alive
dressed in cool blue
like finest water roses
we fiddle noisy,
together a showy pit
pant of heat,
like juices –
what sin!
(Friday is magnetic poetry. Â Play along.)
You see blood black
yet, I am alive
dressed in cool blue
like finest water roses
we fiddle noisy,
together a showy pit
pant of heat,
like juices –
what sin!
(Friday is magnetic poetry. Â Play along.)
I was your pink girl universe,
but you, Two Spirit,
asked me to look up,
full faith, feel sky lift
your language world big,
I, little and like morning, gentle,
always open –
one sister soul
making life a play.
(Friday is magnetic poetry. Â Play online. Â Image from personal collection – available on Society6 – KnutsonKreations.)
If only I could bloom a rhapsody,
gentles river song for sound…
will remember your promise –
respect another soul,
honour their life,
that between each beat
emotion felt, true music,
innocent but strong
thanking your lift,
favouring the gift –
seek its fill.
(Fridays are magnetic poetry. Â Play online. Featured image from personal collection. Â Design available on Redbubble, KnutsonKr8tions.)
Mosquitoes favour
river banks – hopefully hate
repellent, free me
to linger as dusk settles
catch that last flash of colour.
(For RonovanWrites Haiku Challenge: Â detest/ favour)

(Inspired by Ragtag Community’s prompt: sumptuous, and Fandango’s: common)
Begging, this story,
brimming over
bursting out
I suck in,
hesitate
ending preset
message elusive
crushed beneath
weight of subjectivity.
The gap widens –
the life I’d envisioned
washed away by current
reality – widening span.
I need a bridge –
expansive enough
to carry wishes,
to facilitate movement
of passing ideals,
allow for traffic flow.
Or a bridge to slow me down,
help me re-align, directing
me toward a new road,
encompassing change.
(Image from personal collection.)
Metal moans
and brake lines squeal
as rubber comes to a crawl –
tie-up on the highway.
Roadside wildflowers flourish,
attract birds and bees alike –
a butterfly floats by, nonchalant.
Tempers flare, impatience inches,
horns no deterrence for maddening halt.
Let me be the butterfly, I pray,
carefree in the midst of such fray.
Is this inherent restlessness,
a fiery blue spark
of eternal angst
igniting passion –
a call to write?
(Image from personal collection)