Short Brindled Poems

crisp frosty morning
	ice subsides damp within grass ~
		brindled baby’s breath

(December Full Moon – Cree)
...

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White butterflies ruffle
in late August's brindled garden
like petals lingering
in undulating ash of morning breeze.
Thorns of your absence
perforate my aching chest.

6/15/18...

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Listen to poem:

Scarlet morphs into a shroud of pink; as
Umber tints a brindled horizon, and
Night welcomes an ebony sky filled with
Stars, while a sliver of moonlight rises
Effortlessly in the blackness of night
Tethered to a dying sun as it bleeds....

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Dappled dawn slowly raised its shade
As brindled pit-bull puppies played
Patiently the fisherman hooks the mottled rose-dotted trout
Peppiness in his laughter rings out 
Lazily the varicolored finch's wings raise him up
Elaborately bedazzled is a spring buttercup
Day to night nature is dappled from higher-up   


Written: February 07, 2023
Sponsor: Constance
Contest: Writing Challenge D Word...

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Nothing is left of love
but soft slopes of sand –-
sea shard curves
of ancient offered flesh..

We hold life’s
brief possessions
in brindled hands—
cheeks ripe roseate  
above painted  
porcelain lips.

Faded farm women 
gaze on roseolas of prairie—
sepia skims 
of faith’s watermarks
held up to light
and frenzied time
amid salmon stains—
papered moth wing eyelids
flickering madly
under thin Rosetta stones
of sun....

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Dappled Winds

Phantom gliders in the sky rise at day
To rush the firmament on dappled winds,
Heaven’s piebald appaloosas at play,
Brindled tempests ruffle zephyr’s fringes
On stippled flurries in mistral tinges -
Flecks of dirges – the haunting calls of loons –
Laugh with ecstasy at mosaic breeze,
Born from the mottled rainbow’s pure cocoon,
In a dappled dance of impish teases.

2-11-22
Contest: D Forms - Dizain
Sponsor: Constance La France...

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Post-drought the winter dawning creeps
across my coarse and brindled lawn,
a molten ocean snail-like seeps
and spreads its early morning yawn.

A lambent thread it first appeared
to rise and fall with rooftops' pitch.
Across the frost it persevered,
this aura of an angel which

has fixed me to this gilded spot
with silent prayers in misted breath, 
the fuchsia-ed clouds the sky's begot
above a saffron-laureled wreath.

The first of January wakes
effulgent as the new year breaks....

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