Tag Archives: this poem poems

Shrapnel

Posted on May 19, 2017 by

She left pieces of her life behind her everywhere she went. It’s easier to feel the sunlight without them, she said. – Brian Andreas .. This poem is my missing pieces. The grief. The shame. The same small dreams I … Continue reading →

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Din & ’Tonic

Posted on April 28, 2017 by

.. This poem has no home. It’s not known for throne nor stones or SnoCones. It’s quick, just a schtick to get things flowing, get things growing, get things knowing the right pace for their race, their small place in … Continue reading →

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Poemriah

Posted on April 26, 2017 by

I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me. – The Outsiders, S.E. Hinton  .. Looking in {again} , I wonder just how long it’s been {no doubt} since I was on the inside, looking out. . … Continue reading →

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Paper Tigers

Posted on April 26, 2017 by

… This poem has no re -morse code, no regrets. It does not wish it wasn’t, or want to be something else, even as it trips over its own un -iambic feet. It’s complete in its im -perfections, its imp … Continue reading →

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a little something soupish

Posted on April 25, 2017 by

.. this poem is all split -pea and hambone moon, noodled in syllables and slightly goth broth. it’s dump -lings and gum -bo flings and hot and sour and wanton lust for life. let it simmer ; don’t take it … Continue reading →

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poem penned in invisible ink

Posted on April 14, 2017 by

.. this poem is for no one (everyone, ……..some -one in the crowd with a scram ……….-bled soul.) it can only be seen by firelight by starlight by the far light of another galaxy, or the candle you’re burning …………………….at … Continue reading →

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She has not thought this poem through.

Posted on March 16, 2017 by

; It has no pondered purpose. No prayer. No be -ginning, midd -led end. But the phrase indoor fins wanted a place to be, so she builds it a word-salted home, a storm drain, a sea. .. The phrase ‘indoor fins’ … Continue reading →

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