Sunday, November 16, 2014


Image via Mag 246

It’s subtle
how it calls,
how the road
yields to the curve
of your palm,

upon your tongue,
your palate quivering
with diesel and dust
as if cigar smoke, sex, Bordeaux.

By day,
the sun toasty,
by night,
the stars crisp,
like hints of a lover’s kiss
fresh upon your skin,

soul entwined
with the highway wind,
a liberative mix,
as the slivered moon
tends to the
cumulonimbus clouds
in your mind.

And it’s subtle
how you answer,
how you
yield to the curve
of its palm.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Going for a mind clearing drive with Magpie Tales & the Sunday Whirl.

Friday, November 14, 2014

how to fingerPaint a poem

splash, play

get in there
get messy

it will be worth it

blue ink
up to
your elbow

across your cheek

dots of crimson
on your fingertips

and one full palm-
print of

your story

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner