Contemporary Poems
Damsel True Hope I once met up with a whimsical damsel named True Hope. For unknown reasons, she had the appearance of being legit. We learned to dance an intricate pas de due, with her in a pink tulle tutu. I couldn’t have done this before, because how could I have conceived …
Where to Be. Through It All. What should I let myself believe in? Should it be a faded false flag which has snap-waved itself into tatters, while mongers of oppression wrap themselves in spoils at its feet. They will only tell you their truth while wearing a disguise with heel clicking and …
Milady of Samothrace (Winged Victory) If you could now move, every time, at the same time, there would be a lightning strike, somewhere. And no one would dare a thought in any attempt to dissuade you from the pride in your not-to-be denied stride. Having cascading adornment and soaring adoration in remembrance of gutty …
The Simplicity Sestina Which conveyance should I ride getting to simplicity? To board, which ticket should I show since my situation is so delicate. How far can I ride if I stand behind the conductor and preach? I would so desire to take a seat until we have gone full circle in this space …
Nebula Last night, I saw one of the wonders of the universe. A nebula! In plain sight. Well, at night. All it took was having the right tool. They make such things, you know. It is called a telescope. But not just any ’ol kind. This was in a planetarium, and it was big. All …
Reflections on a Tree. A Solitary Tree. I am not as tough as you. That is why I came to see you today. But I thought you were only beautiful. In that, I was wrong. I noticed you live your life without orders. I would burn Rome to the ground to learn to …
Knock on History’s Door All too often, people defer to ever speak on this story. It can be toxic to even think of. But meaning cannot be numb and just creep to fly away. And history has more sustenance for meaning than found in Rorschach clouds knocking about all day long under …
To Find Fullness Not all beaches are all sand. Some have rocks, shined-up by wind and friends. To the common eye, they look as new as ever. Washed over by waves that instinctively express their own freedom to be. Poking holes at hollows in the shore before breaking —into mist. …
Petit Rose Laying the length of my hand. Teasing with softness at your head as I roll you over. Reveling in the remnants of sunship and handling light so well. Selected at prime. The peak of essence. One day to be gone, with the last of fragrance. Life’s work done. A coquettish …
Desires Have Movements Why must I tremble so when ultimately I know, I must be dust. It is because of desires. I’m sure. If only they had the courage to turn and face me. Perhaps, stride beside me, and dabble in a sweep of conversation. Tell me their proper names. And not …