Category Archives: Night


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Attempted Glosa ( see below )


cassiopeia tree-heads nod from your skies

to mine though cloud divides muted eyes

i blink through sheaves of sand-gulls screeching

‘criss ink-stained papers, tears leeching

an unknown alphabet-net of dumb faces

i’m hung from tooth and skeins of white spaces

indentations where my head has lain

inventing fabrics of your pillow in vain

no matter, no stuff where dreams are hooked

i go to bed, as you are getting up


momentary glitch flashes ‘tween lashes

freckles of luminous liquid silences

i rise from these crumpled sheets

still littered with fragile sighs replete

in bellies unmet, limbs hung with longing

a wood-burner bright in my breast, sunset songings

in dull light, my white night dress soaked

in unspoke couplets, threads drift afloat

on twigs rigged with cloud-down as you curl

aziz, on the other side of the world


water over stones over stretched

connects the dots of lights over ledges

eastwards ascendant scents falling

into premonitions of your gift-intentions

seared on darknesses, stitched in tocsins

i loosen my dream-throat to catch at

from whence you are, lost, dust and ash

notes acriss my midnight coverlet where

aziz, you have scattered the stars


you go about your day vertically

i go about my night horizontally

wallow-wandering, thought of by me

you think as i think and dream muddily

plucking unstrung pearls you cast emergent

from whence you’ve sent as sacréments

glistening on pregnant sleeping lips

awake, i drink them in intrinsic sips

your water voice falls wild, aziz

towards me here, like seeds




tocsin: single long note or alarm bell

aziz: beloved


My lines are chosen from a poem by Carol Ann Duffy




I go to bed, as you are getting up

in the other side of the world

You have scattered the stars

toward me here, like seeds


NaPoWriMo day 3 : This one is a bit complex, so I saved it for a Sunday. It’s a Spanish form called a “glosa” – literally a poem that glosses, or explains, or in some way responds to another poem. The idea is to take a quatrain from a poem that you like, and then write a four-stanza poem that explains or responds to each line of the quatrain, with each of the quatrain’s four lines in turn forming the last line of each stanza. Traditionally, each stanza has ten lines, but don’t feel obligated to hold yourself to that! Here’s a nice summary of the glosa form to help you get started.


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my thoughts are over used

rutted and butted and puttered over


mulling and churning and chewing over


all details and entrails assailed over

and over and over thinking thinking

drinking and drowning down in

mess of haze-maze crazed

worry-boned alone-ness


it’s fair to say

my thoughts are worn-to-thin

fair-to-middling — overmused

knocking the stuffings of my noggin-chocking nights

no respite in sight; unlit — confused


whirl pooled in a floating world

misted twisted pensées swirl and curl

miserly, relentless, restless, gutted

i rise from sleep to sleep perchance but

just to think again again again again

my wearied brain is drained thus

in vain though

i own it

i know it

i think

i think

i think

therefore i am?

here? there? no? where?

it’s fair to say


overmused : worn out form thinking too much


today’s challenge is to write a poem based on a word featured in a tweet from Haggard Hawks, an account devoted to obscure and interesting English words. Will you choose a word like “aprosexia,” which means “an inability to concentrate”? Or maybe something like “greenout,” which is “the relief a person who has worked or lived in a snowy area for a long time feels on seeing something fresh and green for the first time”? 

I chose, of course, without overthinking the possibilities, overmused

WORD OF THE YEAR 2021: overmused 33%

(adj.) worn out from thinking too much

It’s fair to say we probably all had a lot on our minds in 2021, which makes this superb seventeenth-century coinage the perfect choice for Word of the Year. To overmuse is to overthink, or to contemplate too much—so if you’re feeling overmused, then you’re utterly exhausted from endlessly thinking, worrying, and mulling things over.



not a haiku