a warm winter

watch out for falling snow

that isn't here the story

but we're okay with that 

Photo by Jenna Weaver.  Haiku by Dustin.

The Earth was soft

My backyard was desert.

And after a storm or monsoon, I would walk beyond our cement brick wall.

The ground moved when I moved, not gritty at all, and gave generously where I stepped.

The Earth was soft.

I remember coming across a fire.

It was about a half mile from my house.

The flames blended with the setting sun,

and smoke remodeled into thick storm clouds.

It skewed the beauty behind it.

How could there be a fire when it just rained, I thought.

I couldn't move. I also wasn't trying.

I felt earth creep higher on my toes. I stared.

My chest held me there.

My eyebrows dropped down and I thought.

But nothing was really happening.

I was still. Staring. Nothing.

I kept the gaze. The flame.

The smoke. The sky. The soft rain just a few minutes ago.

The wet dirt. The crack of shrubs being eaten by flame.

The sky. My stare. My hands hanging loose at my sides. My cold legs.

My chest empty. My throat closed. My tears.

I stared.

For nine whole minutes.

I gazed. The rain that was, the fire now.

I stared.

Photo by Jenna Weaver.  Words by Jordan Lane Shappell.

this is the afternoon

this is the afternoon
i say
with all intention of honesty
that i will peak my anger

i will throw sand at the trees
stars at the moon
heart at the brain
and soul to the floor

this is the afternoon
i say
with all intintion of irony
that i will sleep while walking

i will snore and wake the daisies
pee on the watermelons
dance by myself
and never go to bed

this is the afternoon
i say
with all intention of hope
that i will forget the world

i will fly through the sky
swim in the soil
make good all that is bad
and never say goodbye

this is the afternoon
i say

Photo by Jenna Weaver.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.