words become things
writer + artist
on a mission to follow my curiosity
This morning I pulled up the window blinds -- day cracked open, spread itself, a golden yolk over the trees along the horizon, its comforting glow the warm breakfast that sticks
By Adriane Giberson2 years ago in Poets
These white legs are sand shoals- blue capillaries pool like silent lakes, tributaries snake up limbs in search of infinite source.
The print of your hand inside of mine is present between thought and memory the way pillow folds crease my skin as I sleep, the business of it silent,
Silence rings in orchestras of light. I am a sommelier of awe, a neural cross-wiring expert, as I pair my disparate senses
By Adriane Giberson3 years ago in Poets
I want to grow a field of dahlias as an hymn to the sun, offer my bare-soled feet in a prayer of gratitude to soil, circumambulate the garden to ask
I didn’t know, when we stopped to peer at owls perched in barn haylofts, felt the overhead disturbance of wings cutting cool dusk air on the bike trail,
I have not yet shared my poetry on here, but yesterday I edited a couple of poems that I started working on last year and thought I’d post one of them.
“Thank you,” said Millie as the cashier handed her a receipt. Millie’s smile, hidden beneath several layers of PPE (a.k.a. personal protective equipment), surely went unnoticed.
By Adriane Giberson3 years ago in Futurism