pin the tale on a sunflower

when winds walk
like mysterious hours
pin the tale on a sunflower
decision a sweet dust

the unfailing drum
appreciates thunder and
rolled-up sleeves
hands replenished by hard work

inventing a stair
is like
throwing time
into a trash can
life a brilliant lip


by mary ann blinkhorn


the window stands
by wind-clattering mirror
moments that never include paper

i lift brick pencil
with worn-out eraser
thinking of obstacles
busy street
still words
a simple face
settled with memories

in the city
poets stand
on street corners, tall
dreaming of undreamed magic

whilst pens take up the whole sidewalk
invisible they are
scribbling on mind’s written pavements

by mary ann blinkhorn


if you looked through my eyes
you’d only see part…
best to use own eyes

q. well why can’t you just tell me what it’s about?
i can’t figure it out, otherwise…

a. because art is about showing
as much as the artist
is willing to show
and no more than that

q. but poetry isn’t art!
prose isn’t art!

a. in some cases, it is…
in my last piece
the blue-covered tree bark
represented the sadness of an old friend
the red serviette,
remembrances of dining
in a particular chinese restaurant in 1979

q. but that’s absurd!
why write anything at all?
who’s going to understand its meaning?

a. i will, and besides…
you’d be surprised what others
take away with them…
hopefully their own impressions, ideas and remembrances

q. oh, so it’s just me, then?

a. would you like it better
if i spelled it all out
divulged every detail to you?

on second thought
don’t answer that!

by mary ann blinkhorn

two brads only

he adored picking roses
but didn’t know how to love
40 watt pen
under 20 watt bulb


time screaming, “noise”
screaming “poise”
whispering silence
like lush potted plants
guarded by gnomes

friend speaks of
rooster chasing her…
chasing her printed floral dress

i laugh whole-heartedly
envisioning scene
the six-storey building
with all six stories intact

eventually all is gone
except life after script experiences
generating powerful contemporary ink
three-hole pages
two brads only, please
fresh tire marks in snow

by mary ann blinkhorn

brads are screenplay fasteners, the better ones made of brass

six events

event one
view petits pois
stored in kitchen cupboard
green-white label on “i can”

event two
remove butts and maybes
from nearby black ceramic receptacle

event three
ignore the watch
the botch
the blotch
the melting snow-sloshed sidewalks

event four
push pen forward
draw thick lines
assemble them to look like Will

event five
set scene
three bullies
big, bigger and greatest
all against Will
who unzips duffle bag
retrieves boxing gloves

event six
temporary essentials
have them smile
celebrate their greatness
revise cranky backstory

by mary ann blinkhorn

the dance

she dances
like a freed up sweet silhouette
spared coffee mugs
on the counter

the new apartment
his final hour
days of extinction
new love
the double-looped wall of death
tough circles under disillusioned eyes
the weighted sofa
the forwarded sidewalks
all gone

she dances
like a freed up sweet silhouette
spared coffee mugs
on the counter

by mary ann blinkhorn