The blackbirds flock in a cluster of murderous merles The month I am grieving. Blackbirds, They don’t chirp or caw or quaintly whistle. They cry. In a human sort of anguish that
How are you doing? “Great! Fine.” “Good. Well . . .” I smile. So do you. Teeth gleam in rows under curved lips. Our eyebrows raise, our eyes widen. Then I walk away, hands in my
It’s been said: “Hope survives best at the hearth.” Not my hope. Not at my hearth. The tile is cracked And pokers, rusted and crumbling; The forest is now a desert, kindling
See the fire blazing In the hearth—so amazing! Hear the branches cracking, Popping and snapping; Watch the flames dancing, Wildly enhancing, Bending, twisting, turning, While their dancing floor is burning! Feel heat
I do not think it’s a pious display, where Our mouths twist themselves into holy words. I do not think it is an intense windgust That lifts our spirits to momentary devotion.
Students' shoulders sag sorrowfully At the Season’s sluggishness, The Semester, stagnant and slow. We trod on our trajectory In a trance, totally and utterly tired, Thankful for the treasured time with family.
They gave you an identity. They told you not to change. These people made you, So they can tell you who you are. And this place, you call home. They took your identity.
Under a cold and watery sun, When the Midas-touched maple branches Have bronzed and gone to sleep— When people crunch the amber leaves With mouse-like scurries, their eyes downturned, Rushing through the cold—
“We don’t use the fireplace anymore.” I was the only one who used it anyway. I used it; I loved it. I loved the fire’s dancing, Contained in a cage. It
He was the oldest brother, An example to the siblings that were younger, Counseling them with golden advice, In the absence of his drunken father, helping his dying, single mother He grew to
Crouched on a hillside Lies a lone soldier. Eighteen, he claimed to be, A lad of just fifteen. Hated soldiers advance upward; Lone soldier squints and takes aim. Many a day he trained
Without asking for thanks, he works In his quiet, humble way. Without a murmur, he endures The burdens of the day. Without a thought for his own wants, He gives to those in
Now I know, Lord, what You were doing, When You placed that love for the words of the world, and the world, Deep within me, woven so tightly into the latticework of my
Flanders, 1600 A hedgehog square of pike and gun; The Spanish banner hoisted high. The soldiers squint against the sun And spot death’s cloud approaching nigh. A wall of horsemen armed with
From my first breath, You have been there. And indescribable depths Of love are shown To all of us each day. Your faithfulness is true; Your Christ-like love, sincere As you lead our
A maniacal canine howl vibrates across the sky. On the porch I sit acquainted with loneliness. Even the trick-or-treaters slumber now; The evening’s bright orb keeps watch. As I shift my feet,
A structure stands engulfed in shadow, Its inhabitants yet to be seen. Gusts of frigid wind buffet and blow Through a castle without a queen. Black skeletons moan As they beat at the
My peers shine with genuine joy, and a question of fear comes to mind: Will I ever be that happy? Relationships flood my view of life and my mind interrogates my soul: Will
My foremothers Burned. But before, they brewed A bubbletoilingtrouble In me. A cauldron of calcitrated boils Venom Vitriol And the heart of men's abuse— Blackest bauble— In me. My foremothers burned And burn
I was a common person, A droplet in a cloud; God called me for a sunbeam, But I did not stand out. I could have helped that person; I could have said that