Category Archives: 2015

London :









London was an idea, or an eye
a stone thrown that could sink no deeper
a jar without a lid, a sound out of the speaker

beyond the bridge of murky sea-crossed mosaics
a spine bent back with words half-read
Jimmy’s strings you could not follow, a metronome of something lead

You and I outside in an English garden
a taste you told everyone was only earl grey and cream
a peak fare to the next junction, the blue eggshells of something broken free

Copyright © 2015 · Elizabeth Ganot · All Rights Reserved ·

MARCUS (mumford)


a radio toothache, hours were not sailboats
mind spinning, trying to brush something off
July got caught under a rudder of ghosts
hours were not parachutes or goalposts lost
we gave them a chance to land on the cross
for a song to mark us then and mark us now
a stain in your cheek with all the old gloss
to one thing we constantly took on the brow
as gentlemen of the road always allow
on mint occasions, a sonnet echo
for a song to Marcus then and Marcus now
enameled moments stole a page although
I’d find the past written all over your face
no bookmark needed, I’d remember the place

Copyright © 2015 · Elizabeth Ganot · All Rights Reserved ·

springtime :


the answers changed when Jacarandas turned
away to light crosshairs tied back with a ribbon
I set aside Japanese astronauts
if rust was imagined, that barn door bang notion
a stab in the dark, I had no ghost in the hall
no Poseidon seaweed, No Earthly Good reason
no filament stars, no hiccup dandelions
a stayed course of stars, of emperor butterflies

of history and hamartia basking
against stolen observations from Macallan
to Macchiato, the great sunrise shot
I was still hoping to tip the cross-fade scales and
ask you in the Springtime to sail your ghost of hymns
even though there are no seasons in Hawaii
your ocean of milkweed and postcards make me question
handwriting in blue ink everywhere, salt, and space

Copyright © 2015 · Elizabeth Ganot · All Rights Reserved ·

straw :









hot infant bright spark of a kindling birth
on a starlit night amidst sin on earth
in a poor pagan pinch of salty time
past a modern ritual lost in rhyme
of god’s dark decrees for a kingdom bright
for your near escape from an endless night
where you swore to abandon your wicked ways
you swore it forever on innocent days
as if inside a dream of straw and gold
we only dreamt before we grew too old
where fanatic salvation set us free
with tart knowledge from a defiant tree
in a jungle dense of mystery missed
on the face creation so feverently kissed

Copyright © 2015 · Elizabeth Ganot · All Rights Reserved ·