Poetry 
These are not summer poems! And yet…
“Fall”
A steely autumn morning.
A van splashes a reflecting puddle in the street,
Sending the fallen leaves disheveled and damaged.
A boy stands, waiting, by his broken bicycle.
“A Chinese Painting”
Crows in the rain.
No shelter by the winter trees on great grey sky.
On my window, speckled drops run trails down.
The chill mist breathes of great ancient thinking stone.
The heart of earth darkens.
No leaves to hide thorns.
Sky and earth, a Chinese painting.
“Pushed to the Edge”
Hey young boy, what do you know?
The soul is real, how do you feel?
They got you, but they don’t know you.
You’re scared, you’re not ready.
But they’re pushing you to the edge.
Nothing’s perfect, everything’s perfect.
Your mind will take a step to the side and say:
“Hey, who are you standing there, your back turned to uncaring fools with knives?”
“What are you?”
“I’m your world”.
“But you sound like my thoughts and look like a mirror in a dream” .
“Yeah, your world”.
“Taste”
These are your glasses you wear.
You taste your mouth.
Pressure on the ears makes the song you love.
Your own tingling touch.
Strange thought repeats the words you hear,
Talking to the hidden watching center.
Emotion is the beast between us.
“No More Reaction“
What to do when the Dominoes stop?
No more reaction.
I let go, falling, my breath is the only resistance.
Tears of a judge,
Who knew God wouldn’t care?
“Untitled”
You open the creaking dusty door
A shuffling darkness leads ahead
Down the cobbled path
Looming invisible walls on the side
Push
With their presence.
Black opens up to gray courtyard, rosebush in the center.
No related posts.
Comments (21)