Ripped from the skyby wild sulfurous tongues,acrid embers flash.Seething hissing snapsinhale vaporized, smoke-charred wings.Trailing pulverized billows,corpuscular detritus of summer’s languid bobbingdevoured by black-toothed beatific grins.Gasping wheezes of violet twilightsalute the corpse of forest freedomsstolen by the screaming contagionof our interminable coming night. 12 lines of free verse
Category Archives: Poetry
Distant cragsdecorate horizon,promise rising hopeto come. Someday. Now?Parched, skeletal limbscoated in windswept powderaching for quench. Sigh. White knuckles,fingers clench.Distance,hither to yonder unknown, creeping longerwith every step.Scent of decay waftsspring evening breeze. Soulsappingisolation.
A look at the virus from a different perspective…
slosh-clack shake spray paint mists back streethissing splashes vibrant palettefervent frenzy sizzles concrete all are equal, this ain’t wall streetrace non-issue, nameless talentslosh-clack shake spray paint mists back street bouncing bobbing to that dope beatmouthing drake, her tongue a malletfervent frenzy sizzles concrete powered people call her deadbeatfuck the blowhards on the ballotslosh-clack shake sprayContinue reading “Bandit Art”
Unknowable Like Pi
Cotton candy wafting through sticky nostrils,elephant ears scalding youthful throats.Bucket seats rise, legs swinging careless and free,time marches, its passenger a tightening throat.Peak ever approaching but forever distantuntil rusted support erased from sight. Gone. Stomach-floating fall, first warning tardy,Mr. Ferris and his giant wheel grind on,rolling inexorably clockwise to unlit, mazed depths.Direction, distance? Compass-spinningly unknowableContinue reading “Unknowable Like Pi”
Belated St. Paddy’s Limerick
There once was a man who was Irish,on St. Paddy’s tapped his glass desirous.But the Guinness was gone!Unsure life would go on,he silently cursed this damn virus.
Some Musical Poetry
Wrote this one for a contest. It needed to include the words in bold. I called it: Lonely in the Crowd
Escape to the Hills
Some timely free verse
This Old Barn
The Hope of Power
A villanelle on government by the people