Category: Poetry

Five Short Poems

Creaking Before the Chomping The creaking in the deep crake. Where does it begin? Deep from within, I think. It stops when I do. How soon to be you for a day? Tell me with candy in your mouth. Chomping and chomping, until you…

Poem: We Belong Here

Crisscrossing back and forth, across the hardened landscape, swollen feet, numbed ankles, and cut up fingers, from now on we will not travel so far at night. By the light of the sun, when the crunching under our shoes begins, we feel the power,…

Poem: Murky

Dipping my hand into the water, too opaque to see what is at the bottom, still willing to go deeper and deeper to get to the core. It’s the center of it that keeps me going, that propels me forward, even through the terror…

Poem: Mosquito

Oh, how you buzz near my ear, pesky little thing in my life when I’m trying to relax. A complete nuisance, not small enough to ignore, and what an ugly little thing you are. Beyond any kind of purposeful meaning, you are too annoying…

Poem: Closer

The dotted line appeared in the morning light. It stayed for a while, growing thicker. A little burden to me. The dotted line appeared when night arrived. It morphed into a red splat. An intrusion into my room with intentions. Keeping still and watching…

Poem: Nothing Fancy Like Raspberries

Relevant maybe, but I’m related to a man named Sebastian, an ancestor of mine who once owned land, grew crops and hid a cowboy who had killed another man for drinking his cup of whiskey. Not that I don’t think he matters today or…

Poem: Spot

The prickling and the tingling, of my overworked legs, like a little lost dog on the corner with a red collar and a dog tag with the name scratched off that has run for days. If you see me darting behind the bushes to…

Poem: What is not Seen

Open it, open it wide, wider and wider, not wide enough, even more as the wrinkly body inside flourishes. The layers, the ones neglected pulsating out and in, in and out, further out and less in, the expansion gaining momentum with every contraction. Close…

Poem: Coming Home

In the dark, night after night, I sat, uncomfortably, on the chair, the bars digging into my back.  The minutes could not be counted. There were too many, perhaps thousands or millions, it was only the absence of influence that was certain.   Deeper…

Poem: Maybe, No, Yes

Maybe, the beauty of it is within, the substance I’ve never seen before, touched it, tasted it, or felt it brush against me. No, it has not come to me, the detachment, a flower ripped from its roots you can’t see beneath the soil….

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