bright in the spring sun
it ripples with the breezes
while the crimson fleck
of a cardinal
flits through the corner
of your eye.
© Erik Hansen 2016
bright in the spring sun
it ripples with the breezes
while the crimson fleck
of a cardinal
flits through the corner
of your eye.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
change is subtle
slow most times
less often it arrives
a cataclysm of words
people, places, things,
cutting like concertina wire
as you scramble over
cut, bloodied, tired
that tipping point reached
you run
slow over the muddy fields
and far away
to a place unseen
by human eyes
pristine, unspoiled,
clean,
without the water
to wash it all away.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
across the high desert
cracks lips
and exposed skin
like baked mud
around the waterholes
slowly receding
green gems
in the red dirt.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
upon the sidewalk;
tragedy comes
in many guises
this Thursday morning.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
the aput
And the slow suffocation
accompanying it
if the wind could pierce it
you could breathe
the icy air
far away from
the bloody brush strokes
glistening upon the pack ice
left by the nattiq
dragged from their aglu
by the ever hungry
ever silent
ever searching Pihoqahiak.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Cold bites downupon your bare neck
Spring seems in retreat
as the winds whip snow
across the smothered
grass.
Daffodils bow their heads
waiting for the sun
to warm it all away.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Sudden Sunday snowfall;
slippery sidewalk surprise.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Rain taps out a
stuttering beat upon
the aluminum flashing
wrapped window sill.
Beads of moisture trickle
in random pattern
down the glass surface of
my office window;
the day as dark
as the mood
it ushered in.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing