She cradled the brush twixt her fore and thumb
Where she graphed a waltz on a woven cloth;
A headland conjured with verdurous swaths
O’erlooked the ocean that miles plumbed. The painter’s hand that eb...
The flames that burn inside my heart,
Are the same as the fires that dwell in hell.
Burning me from inside out.
It hurts so bad, It burns so hot.
Why can't this hate stop?
The flames lick my hatred,
Tea bags still soaking
in chipped porcelain,
pecking at cracks,
and caressing stains
that linger in molars.
Finely ground specs,
those murky lovers
swim in slow circles,
Let me start this off by saying I am a person who doesn’t like poetry all that much. Sure, at this point in my life, I can be mature and respect poetry as a sophisticated craft of literature, but back...
It is often said that a good story is timeless, but the best literature can also provide an insight into the time and place in which it was created, specifically its values and attitudes. The period s...
What weakness is there,
Such of flesh and man,
Binding both mind and meat,
To drag senses mad.
To drive sad a heart,
And leave regret as repose.
Of truth, the world lays bare,
Many a perfect feast,
When the winding sheet of history coils
Stiffly around handrail and chimney stack,
I’ll be reminded it’s no longer enough
To write poetry, to build monuments
From toothed stanzas to the splintering eg...
I stepped into the world today,
it surrounded me.
Like the first moments of departed womb,
the cold sting piercing,
heart center piece, quivering to the touch.
Again the newness
of Life's first breath...
We shook the southern dust from our feet for the last time,
By foot, mule, train or truck,
Dixie is at our back and a new day is ahead,
Detroit, Chicago, Philadelphia, and New York,
As the Puritans dried up the alcohol
And the influenza virus waned,
As another anniversary of Red summer came around
As Butter Beans and Susie gained Vaudeville fame,
A fever took hold to hit the northbound road,
We packed up everything we owned
To board the Orange Blossom Train
Heading up the Atlantic Coast.
As the stock market rose
And the stock yards grew,
As Henry Ford’s invention
Created jobs for glass, rubber and steel,
As the trap doors of speakeasies
Hid the booze,
In the middle of the heat,
In the middle of the desert,
Do not know the south
All I know is just keep going
Thirst was no longer willing to compromise
When I have p...
One cold night
in mid winter snow,
the clock struck ten
as the fire brightly glow.
I settled down as I began to retire
when a gust of wind blew out the fire.
A dim blue light
flickered in the dark, se...
I've been cleaning house lately,
getting rid of things I don't need.
The usual stuff:
Stuffed animals from years gone by,
Books that have gone untouched for years.
It didn't tak...
I know why bottles are loved so much. Bottles and humans have so much in common. Each bottle is unique. No bottles of cider are ever the same. The name of the brand. The fruit of their nationality. Th...
The poet and artist, William Blake, spent most of his life living in London, eaking out a living as an engraver. The London of Blake’s day was a dark, violent, and oppressive place where violence and ...
My favorite book is Villette by Charlotte Bronte. It's one of the few novels of hers that was not adapted to a BBC miniseries. To be honest, I read a lot of the classics so I could guiltlessly watch t...
The sybils didn’t bother with me
but one or two poets filled the blanks in:
an Ithakan king, vying for the sea,
conscripted men to the mast on
his flagship crossing to Troy.
Nearly his wh...
Ice is cold.
And it burns
Just the thought of it sends shivers down my spine
Your face as I look at it-
Unknown whether out of stone, or in time itself
And as I play with and speak to you