Fore Ate
The walls are close
Rough to the touch
Familiar friends
I can talk to again
The cot creaks
As I rise reluctant
Or lay down exhausted
A single light extinguished
Without my say.
Category Archives: Edges
Four Seven
Four Seven
Your stomach churns
With the questions
Where are they?
What happened?
How?
Why?
Clouds obscure the sun
Rains come and never cease
Hope is a paralytic
We long for the grief
To move on.
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Four Six
Four Six
Ice out in the swamp
Open water
A chorus of frogs
Telltale signs
Of a tardy springs’
Welcome arrival.
The dirt stained snow
In the front yard
Hangs on like
Lint upon a black jacket
Unwanted
Tenacious.
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Witness
Witness
The wood
The splinters
The weight
You don’t mind though.
You are a carpenter after all.
Its the careless crowning
The thorns
The lash
How they all just stand back
And watch
Doing nothing.
Let us all witness
Forgiveness.
Let us all be blessed
In time.
4/3/15
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Run
Run
That wet scream
In the close distance
Muffled by darkness
Prickles at the roots
Of your hair
Scalp deep
You wish you could run
Fast and far
But which way?
4/2/15
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Choices
Fly the kite
See the stars
Ride the bike
Dream of Mars
Close the door
Read the book
Still the words
Endure the looks
Pencils and pens
Become your voice
Silence comes
Make your choice
4/1/15
AM Writing
The mind and memory
Tell the stories
The heart and blood
Paint the pictures
The wounding is necessary
As is the healing
Its traces followed
In the paths of the scars
Living proof
That the day was won.
3/31/15
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Snow
The snow falls and piles up
Shiny white dunes
Crawl their way
Across the narrow streets
To thaw and refreeze
Crust that cuts exposed skin
With the ease
Of an ulu
And when the sun finally shines
Upon the pale wastelands
It blinds us with its careless
Objectivity.
2/16/2015
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
December
Willow branches encased
In delicate ice
Become numberless prisms
For the slow rising sun,
The coldest hour of the day
Becomes the brightest
And the Master’s designs
Are revealed …
with painstaking patience
To those who would wake
To watch the advancing thaw
And wonder.
December 2014
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
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