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
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.
In this week’s writing.com newsletters, I had two mentions: Utopia is Boring made the Science Fiction/Fantasy newsletter Phoenix made the For Authors newsletter More importantly, however, I discovered that this is Poetry Month. Yay!!! Get ready for some poetry this month, guys… been meaning to write a sexy poem, something I’ve never tried. Maybe thisContinue reading “Writing.com Newsletter Mentions”
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”
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”
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.
Wrote this one for a contest. It needed to include the words in bold. I called it: Lonely in the Crowd
Some timely free verse