I spin between the whirling summer stars And balter to the orbit of the earth. My feet are bare of sandals, socks, or scars. My laughter shrieks hysterics, but not mirth. There’s
Panic rising, fear unfurling, voices screaming, Unrelenting— My thoughts besiege me, assault from every side, I cannot escape. Like the flat of a blade scorched by a blaze And thrust against my skin,
A sprinter slips and falls on the winter smooth sidewalks slickened with nice ice Now shrinking, almost gone. God was thinking, "Southern climate; time to go, snow."
I am the hurricane that shakes, The devious earth that quakes, The senseless distraction that takes, The great heart-emptiness that aches. I am an 11:58 submission, Cold, relentless opposition, Cruelty without contrition,
Another semester of classes, And homework to the heavens: Another several months Of lectures and dining hall crowds; Speed-reading and study; scribbles Of notes on this and that; Headaches and braindead moments When
The carpet is complicated So many colors and patterns replicated Never in the same places, relocated The walls are so bright now Leaves my mind asking why, not how To current trends people
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