I awaken just past midnight, Tears falling from darkened skies Pattering against my wind-blown tent, Wondering how we will feel When safely tucked away In our metal shells Observing eternity- No roof needed, nor food, nor rest. Will we digitized beings ever wonder How it felt in analog life To kiss, Feeling…
You were the rock in my shoe Sometimes irritating me beyond belief; The rock that could never be found Merely by removing the coverings on my feet. You filled my receptive ears With more corn than an Iowa farm- I miss those silly, amusing jokes And your keen observations, Surely different than most folks….
My father died from dementia. I wrote this poem to commemorate his struggle and try to give some insight as to how he felt going through it. I recognized the resurrection in the glass. Hair still white, bald on top Shinny as a cue ball. Can’t remember his name, But it was my buddy there…
The wind blew this morning Trumpeting a chaotic melody It savaged loudly against the walls And danced through the electrical lines Blinking the lights inside the building As it toyed with our emotions. A shriveled old man stood smoking Against the wall of the Laundromat Cursing in a loud and angry voice. But the voice…
Away in the night I whisk you Far from human habitation To a cliff where the restless ocean Serves as a percussion section Wagner would have died for And the crickets and cicadas Bow and pluck their strings While frogs sing like woodwinds. As the symphony orchestra performs We dance beneath the…
Dim light leaks eerily from city lamps. As I glance across the fog shrouded lot I hear the sharp barking Of ghostly figures high in the fog. Circling overhead they call to the night: “We are Nature’s wandering children Trained by our parents to flee bitter cold To return to the warmth of the primordial…
Criss-cross, criss-cross, Everything is criss-crossed. They’ve criss-crossed us in! Yesterday I glanced at the Old Mission Nestled in the city, Framed by setting sun clouds. I began to feel a sense of exhilaration But like bars on a jail cell Everything was criss-crossed, Jet black streaks.
Spring, 2020 legs wrapped around my kitchen chair heart pounding hands trembling images parade across the screen a bad trip without the acid body bags stacked in hospital halls thrown into refrigerated trucks ditch witch digging mass graves I rip my eyes from the screen need to see…
