© 2017 by Elizabeth Odders-White

© Elizabeth Odders-White 2020

  • LinkedIn - Grey Circle


I'm striving, chasing

words that refuse to come when

called. Petulant punks!

Menacing Mount Should

obscures the sacred blooms of

the Garden of Is.

Golden globs glide by.

A galactic landscape flecked

with glimmers of home.

I don't do lines. Lines

of coke, lines for waiting, lines

of words... Oh, wait.  Shoot.

Familiar. Presumed

to constrict. Must hide, play small.

Soul shrinks. Heart gets squished.

A four-foot mansion.

Corduroy. Macrame. Shag.

Grandpa's skills amaze.

The flames of his pain—

Fear, loneliness—devour

My boundaries.  Again.

Our little Rosebud

pops and pokes and huffs her way

into timid hearts.

The sun nods early,

as Boreas taunts the swift

November air.  Soon.

Hydrangea blooms, brown

and brittle, clinging to stems,

dancing with each gust.

Please reload

featured posts

haiku-of-the-fortnight blog?

September 27, 2017

Please reload

recent posts

November 9, 2018

June 22, 2018

April 30, 2018

Please reload

search by tags
Please reload