Evergreens line the trail, transporting me to a place -- higher and harder -- where one might expect trees that refuse to yield for seasons.
POEM: Evergreens
Reply
Category Archives: Free Verse
POEM: Burning too Hot
The festive fires were burning hot, too hot for their own good. They melted through the rocky ground just feet from where I stood. I stepped back, wondering whether the fire would burn right through the planet to the molten core making a jet-like flue to push the planet from its path out toward somewhere strange, and by the time the fire 'd frozen we'd be beyond home range. Then I realized that it was I who burned far too fiercely, and all this from my febrile mind was just thinking weirdly.
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
POEM: Choices, Choices, or Not
arches echo ahead, stretching to the end of time left into the labyrinth, right to the blinding sun it's a land of stark contrasts on one side, great adventure but great peril on the other, painful monotony of well-lit spaces then there's straight ahead: a ceaseless repetition of today throughout all your tomorrows
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
POEM: Pale Skies
bleached in bright sunshine -- thin, wispy white clouds are barely seen amid the washed out skies some summer day -- sending one running for sunglasses to avoid a blinding headache it seems the world might fade into a tabula rasa, or blanch anemically
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
POEM: Agony’s Anchor
pain nails me to The Now there is no pulling away the only escape lies in finding the drift, riding the swells until there is nothing but those sacred undulations
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
POEM: That Hazy Hamlet
a small town a cluster of buildings, really visible from the train and everyone who passed it must have surely wondered whether it always sat looking as they'd seen it for me, that was under gray & dismal skies my logical mind suggests that the village's situation changes daily but, really, it will never cease to be that hazy hamlet i viewed through running rivulets of rain that day on the train.
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
POEM: View Killing Fog
Clouds roll over the low hills, enshrouding the vast plantation, crawling down into the valley, filling it like a bowl, until it drifts toward one like horror show death mist, or like the mustard gas that sank into the trenches, once upon a time. But without the threat of death, except for death of that view of rolling acres of tea trees that stretch out to the mountains.
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
POEM: Figment
I'm in a special mode of mind. One in which nothing is ahead or behind. Everything is shades of a me that doesn't exist. So, maybe I'm a reflection of all that is -- in as much as there is an "I." I don't know how I slipped into this anti-solipsist stance -- believing everything exists, but I. I'm a figment, but since I can't be a figment of my own imagination, I'm not sure what flavor of figment I might be.
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
POEM: Nom de Guerre
They called him "the Emperor of Pain," the they who didn't know his real name, a name that was comically disjointed to his reputation, a name that was to this man as that gentle lisping voice is to Mike Tyson, and so they gave him that ridiculous name, and he became both more and less than what he really was.
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
POEM: Mask of the Introvert [PoMo Day 28 – Confessional]
I vibrate wariness at the approach of strangers, and have a face within my Janus repertoire that is labeled: "off-putting." An approaching stranger, having passed by those cues, will -- at some point -- realize something is off, as if I'm holding my breath 'til the conversation's end - but not that, precisely At any rate, they will yield to whatever it is, in due time. [Maybe, I seem contagiously itchy.] Remarkably, I went decades without realizing any of this. To be fair, I never get a good look at myself at the moment I'm meeting a stranger. [And, if I did, I wouldn't have the brainpan bandwidth to do anything with the information.] Now, I'm training myself to behave elsewise, but the score is still 50 years to 1.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 