la valse de l’amour

the music of accordions
press their lips together
creating sharp, light sounds
which drift up and away,
kissing the sun and clouds
carrying the night away


there are songs
you feel
pressing their faces in
vulnerable places
and you grab them by the hair
let them stare you hard in the eyes
reading everything between
the lines
and when they rise,
to form words
you savor their taste
in your mouth
then let them roll out
against the skin of the night
to be heard

repair shop

heartbroken and filled with beer
the lonely one tried to tear down the walls surrounding
fears of love, but pushed and shoved
a little to much, and with a harsh touch
the guitar shouted and snapped under the distress
the lonely one drags himself and his musical mess
to the repair shop. the repairmen daily, nightly
mopped up the dreams, emotions, regrets, and desires
which often pooled in drains and collected under
tires as people tried to wash away, drive away from
all of the things that just seem to stay. the repairmen
looks every which way to mend those bent, broken,
scratched, and ugly things – he attempts to do this without
poking at bruises and sore emotional seams, he brings
up the weather,  it’s a shabby grey rain, eh? and
his customer sadly reaches out and pets the window,
drawing lines and circles into the raindrops
with not so harsh of a touch anymore, he was worn
out, wondering if his guitar would still have the
same voice, familiarity, and warmth as before


if our life stories
were instruments
and someone pressed their
fingertips or lips to them,
what music would
rise from the ground into
the air? or would it
sit quietly in the corner,
here and there a
barely audible hum
as it longingly stared
out the window, lost
in a melody but
forgetting how it goes?
or would it be
an instrument of which
no one knows how
to play, which is why
at times, in beautiful
moments, we can never
find the words to say?
sound cannot reach our
minds, because it got
caught between the rungs –
climbing from our lungs
to our hearts – or what
if the piece is incomplete
and we are still
trying to find our part?

Sunday Sundae Hums

paint my day sweet
pucker your lips and
sprinkle some sugar
on my Sunday, make
it feel more like a
Sundae, and then
on Monday, I’ll treat
you to a bitter coffee
laced with the fanciest
of caffeine and caramel
i’ll sweep you up into my
head fuzzies – you know,
those lingering thoughts
caught in the cobwebs
between daydreams
and waking up – i’ll ask
you something strange, like
when we hum, do we ever
end up harmonizing
in the world with someone
else humming that same
hum? and as you
think about the answer,
i hope it makes those upcoming
workdays feel a little
less glum

written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: harmonize


burn brighter
when hearts
take lighters –
holding them to the sun
waiting for the perfect
song to begin, igniting
your tongue into
a perfect fire,
driving down the
highway, the sun
stretches across the
horizon like
a hot orange toaster wire
i can smell Day cooking,
finishing up her errands
so that i can eat up dreams
and be on my way

swearing; steering

music beautifully swears
about the things that tear
at the bruises of my scars
which is why we turn her up
to push pain out into the sunlight
as we dig our nails into
the steering wheels of our cars
sending us into some direction
while feeling directionless

backdated Post a Day Poem for April 3rd, 2017

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