she examines her blueprints
drawn with rose-colored pencil
windblown and scattered
like package of photographs
dropped on city sidewalk
trampled by heavy traffic
and hard-driven
well-pressed
crowded zombie footwear
she pulls out rose-colored pen
winds portable alarm clock backward
begins again
By Mary Ann Blinkhorn
i looked into owl’s mirror
saw no wisdom
but instead saw
where owl once stood
this intrigued me
by mary ann blinkhorn
she sits on flowery sofa
studying re-upholstered verse
half-finished words
a broken ego
poor decisions in self-stamped ink
swaying to and fro
like a pendulum
she fast forwards it all
to half-drawn scene
where opinions probe
sunny-cold art
mended whole picture
bluesy old ink still fragile
she sighs
eats a cheese danish
by mary ann blinkhorn
i unplug the hour
sit in silence
a thousand whitewashed walls
between us
his smile ancient
like glued sentences
his arms, warm
it’s a darker night tonight
few stars
fog gone
naked rain boots drying in corner
he writes the strangest metaphors
brilliant
heartfelt
pen purged
voice hesitant
light bulb sheltered
by receiver
i retire to bed
lull a blue cough, good-night
by mary ann blinkhorn
give it your best eye
rearrange words
fight yourself free
fight yourself
trust sentences?
trust lips?
perhaps…
did you see the traffic jam?
i took my chances
put on sneakers
ran faster than the speed of ink
did it in half time
by mary ann blinkhorn
then i see him
a hummingbird
flying at the edge of the earth
i stand mesmerised
frightened, delighted, happy
hanging on for dear life
my heart rate
twelve hundred beats per minute
by mary ann blinkhorn
i think of you sometimes
wondering if you’ve gotten
smaller or larger
if that little jade buddha
on black plastic stand
brought any good luck at all
I think of you sometimes
wondering if you discarded
Red Skelton doll
if dream catcher
is full or depleted
and if misty is still alive
i think of you sometimes
how you’d cry yourself
to sleep at night
wake up feeling top of the world
brave soul
i think of you, sometimes
remembrances of your drawings
little stick indians and teepees
standing along a river
the tree that you sketched for me
hope that they’re not all packed up
uncaringly in some old cardboard box
and I pray this for you, as well
i think of you, sometimes
by mary ann blinkhorn
paper piranha
who looks at me with broken eye
beneath red sun where
toxic doves and polyester seagulls fly
too bogged down with sentences
paper piranha
do you not know how much this
page weeps each time your
spiny mouth opens
fingering long-winded wine glass?
I sit on weathered streetcar
contemplating stop signs
acid rain falling
windows stinging
breeze broken
paper piranha
how long must I go on
unable to hear my own clock tick
my own spirit sing
while you look at me with
razor sharp teeth
feeling proud of yourself
i find my way home
open bills
check shopping list
re-evaluate need for
grated parmesan cheese on special
paper piranha
who looks at me with broken eye
beneath red sun where
toxic doves and polyester seagulls fly
too bogged down with sentences
you’re only paper, you know
you are only paper
i bid you farewell
mypenandme 