Tuesday, November 8, 2011


Blood moves
by the beating drum.

Breath flows
from the inner wings.

Words drift
through air to ear.

Language vibrates
in the shadows.

© 2004 Joanne Elliott

Thank you all for your comments both last week and this week. I didn't mean to post this again. I didn't have a poem to post this week and when posting Charles' poem I accidently posted mine from last week. So many of you saw this...if you didn't I'm glad you came by this week. :-)

Tuesday, November 1, 2011


Beads fall to my feet in slow motion
only to rise mockingly as if
they could recapture their well worn
position at the hollow of my neck.

Slowly their rebound subsides
into tiny leaps. Then they roll
out of sight beneath the chair
where my mother never sat.

Tears that strangled my throat
rain to the soft pine floor.
They don’t rise to taunt me
but splatter into stars.

© 2004 Joanne Elliott