It sinks deep into your muddled
mind
late night, dream state
the pins and needles
of a sleeping limb,
tongue probing
for an absent tooth,
the chafe of the tether
pulled from your grasping
hands,
then reality stakes its claim
and upon waking you catch
your breath,
seeking her scent upon the air,
stroking the sheets,
you find them cold.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Frosted fields smoke
in the early April sun
Turkeys appear
like ghosts
the Tom’s gobbles
cut through the silence
and the hair prickles
at the nape of your neck
in anticipation.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
I remember holding her
so small
so fragile
her cries were so soft
I determined to never let her go
Today is her eighteenth birthday
I made her crepes
her favorite
and we talk
of what she might want to do
after college
God
I love her so much.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Habitually herding hens;
chicken chasing champion.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
your breath plumes out
into the chill morning air
cold slowly cut
by the rising sun
the woods are slow
waking up
your footfalls; cymbals crashing
so you stop and watch
and listen
as it all unfolds.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
The April sun
stretches fingers
through leafless tree tops
its warmth welcome
within the tiny patch
you chose to stand in
free from shadow.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Green grass shines
bright in the spring sun
it ripples with the breezes
while the crimson fleck
of a cardinal
flits through the corner
of your eye.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
change is subtle
slow most times
less often it arrives
a cataclysm of words
people, places, things,
cutting like concertina wire
as you scramble over
cut, bloodied, tired
that tipping point reached
you run
slow over the muddy fields
and far away
to a place unseen
by human eyes
pristine, unspoiled,
clean,
without the water
to wash it all away.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Egomaniacs eagerly eating
Pillowy Parisian pastries.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
The murmur
of frog’s song
and duck’s babble
from the wet heart
of the swamp
reminds us
of the everlasting
change,
the triskele we see
in everything
If we look close enough.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Edges 