This experiment in poetry form was written in 1983. Over the snow, there rides a sleigh. Clop, clop is the rhythm of the horse hooves. Bells jingle, jingle around the horse’s neck. Fog creeps upon the snow. The rumble, grumble sound of the horse breaks upon a quiet scene. The horse stops in front of…
Written Feb. 7, 1983. I stay inside the dark and weary castle keep. It is lonely. I know loneliness. She is my friend. Outside is cold. There are many vicious things out there. The many pronged whip that beats on you until you’re a bloody pulp. The razor that slices souls. The knife that creeps…
Written Feb. 27, 1992. You looked at me as if I was a person as if I was beautiful as if I mattered You, who were to hold my first born and smile but were torn too soon away from life You, who in my mourning were a bright star and a friend now so…
Written in 1983 .. inspired by the cover of my copy of Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury. He stands alone in a field of grass and flowers. Pants, too big, hang from brown suspenders. Solemn, in his face. Is the boy sad? Is the boy lonely? Alone, he stands in a field of bombs and…
On October 13, 1982, my diary entry consisted of mostly a poem. I now share with you that entry. Just F.Y.I.: each diary was given a name. For my Junior year in High School, my diary was named Duval, after a guy I liked the previous year. He died his senior year in a terrible…
Written in 1983. The wooden chips float to the floor at each stroke of the blade. The gnarled, old hands shape the stick of wood with an expertise only acquired with time. The metamorphosis of the wood is slow and subtle. but as time progresses a figure seems to come alive. A figure of an…
Written July 25, 1987. She sits there eating stick pretzels as if they were cigarettes. She holds them between her pointing and middle finger. She brings them up to her mouth and takes a bite. She rolls the bite teasingly with her tongue as she stares at her imaginary opponent. In her mind she plays…
Written Feb. 15, 1991. Feed me I’m hungry Hungry for Knowledge Love Understanding Am I a gaping wound or a black hole? The analogy is moot when compared to my hunger my need my desire Help me I’m drowning drowning in an ocean of famine of frustration of possible ignorance You hold the food that…
A fear bubbles forth A spider of self loathing Slam it with a book
On June 6, 1981, my diary entry consisted of nothing but poetry. Here is a series i did about color. Yellow Yellow is bright and cheery It never seems dreary Yellow is the sun Yellow is the morning Yellow wakes me up to a new day And by the way Yellow is adoring Red Red…