Small Conceits

Musings. Stories. Poems.

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Breathing In




one leg tucked beneath her,

chin resting on the bent knee of the other.

Her hands rest, one palm up

     to receive,

one palm down

     to give.

From her fingers flow



               of calm.

Knowing is not all.

Understanding is not enough.



woman sitting cross-legged

photo courtesy of Imani Clovis via Unsplash

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the moon changes tides,
feeds vampire energy —
hot tongue on bare skin
raw, frantic, panting crush of power
delirious, moaning blood wisdom

inverted black & white looking up through trees

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Skeleton Yoga

mad soul
chaos breath
bitter light
delirious death —
the rusted language
of a fragile eternity

Square mandala

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dragons play in hot mist
fragile dreams fly
crash, recover
shake themselves alive

chinese dragon downspout

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Gift to a Dry Land

Moon Mother chanting cool water

a delicate storm path

the rain’s journey

I swim in




                    comfort like skin, a gentle blue water gift

a flowing heart flood

I hear a thousand laughing

sea tongues

sing spirit medicine

transforming dancing light

into a still lake of peace

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I have about seven different magnetic poetry sets. Some of them are stuck to my ‘fridge, where I pause now and again to clear my head when I’m working. Some of them to metal boards I hung on the inside of my bedroom closet so I can create while I’m watching the sunset.

I’ll often just photograph them and send them out to instagram to live (@willowstone11). But sometimes I use them as “starts” and edit them a little and post them here.

If I like what I “find.”

First: “Gift to a Dry Land.”