crop circles below
gaze up at
a woman and child
watching
a bright sunset, and
before the wing tilts
they realize
dusk is a mirage.
Category Archives: conceptual
certain types of looks (fire)
Greedily exhausting
all oxygen, the room
no longer breathing, I
feel those flames
leap from organ to organ,
saving the heart for last.
pious
across the way
the children come from church.
she is naked
from the shower,
hair drips falling from shoulders
across belly and down each leg
steaming the window, warm.
he closes the blinds.
when he asks her to kneel
she takes and eats.
from her, he drinks. all is dark as
in the beginning.
[circa creative writing class 2002]
suitcase catches flies
suitcase catches flies
lazy like a bullfrog, one tongue
a red blouse casually
laying as if a humid breeze
slowly lifted it’s hand
and with an “easy chile” slipped
back comfortably against
a cool mint julep bra.
[author’s note… this poem is just another thing i’m doing rather than packing my suitcase]
your voice (glistens)
your voice crashes
over me like waves
it roars and collapses
and recedes leaves me
parched, thirsty.
it pulls with the tides
it glistens in the moonlight
a rip tide it pulls me out
further and further.
[circa the “zen” journal 2005]
recurring dream (lonely farm house)
at the stop sign
look left
to corn fields
drenched white from
spilt milk of the moon
and tip tops of
sweet corn rolling
row upon row, past
one farm house
lonely but for
three canopy trees
and that long driveway
cutting
a twisted brown scar — i am
only gazing,
gazing,
flotsam or jetsam? (haiku)
Bobbing quiet in a
Melted crayon sea I am
Floating far away.
dance recital
i’m still a dancer
behind
a dark velvet stage,
a ballerina,
peeking anxious at a
curtain opening slow,
still in tutu, tights,
straining to find
your eyes
reflection
from breathless
wooden chairs.
grass is always greener
all it takes:
one soft ocean wave
one swift approaching storm
one sandy toe
one face leaned back
it’s enough,
those dark brown eyes
one quick glance
one wrong word
one minute alone
one single
flutter of the belly
is enough to…
the girl to dust
will “they” say
the calm is what
killed her?
was the quiet lack
what turned the
blood to sludge
the brain to mush…
what turned
the girl to dust?
Press Send Poetry 