lone shoe
in drive
way
screaming boy
dragged to
car should
i have
called
cops
Category: poem
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the city is smashed iron
knives cutting the sky wide
rust rains down on us
-
at the local bar
mrs. rick james slides on by fast
her jheri curl wet
my town has so many types so many different styles and people still living in the past
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Self care is noble
Look after yourself today
Serve others tomorrow
Exploring both Haiku and Tanka writing is a revelation. As dark and cruel as some of my poetry is, one should never mistake the heart of the artist with their work.
At one with Cosmos
We pulse with Universal
Love and Stardust Light
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How proud your colors once – now tied in baling wire, bleached grey weathered tatters dangling.
Captain, my captain, your hull is torn, black bottomed asphalt weighed down as the Forest calls you to water.
Anchored on cinder blocks, your sails hang in rags. With Mushroom sprouted barnacles, you await the dusky leaf sea.
You are beached, broken, sinking slowly in suburbia.
Shipwrecked.
Finding an old sailboat parked by the side of the road, her best years behind her. I see abandoned and broken cars all the time – never boats.
-
gun brass
rains
on street
tinging
echoing
in a
blood
timpani
of violence
Working in the Haiku format is such a precise art. 17 syllables. No more. No less.
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Dream now of the beach
Warm forever sands, clear blue water
Yet lungs strain to reach
Breaths that start later
And end rattling in wet-mold banquet
A mirage to hold in final decay
i hope i live long enough to make the beach in PR when this is all over i will write poetry and run a little cinema lumiere and make photos.
ABABCC Rhyming Meter
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Seen on road side sign
‘Abortion is Murder,’ here
I have killed then.
I live in Gary, IN – like Detroit, Michigan, it’s a depressed area with a clear color divide. Outside of Gary, white holy rollers preach the gospel and tell women what they can and can’t do with their bodies. It’s a fucking disgrace.
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reloading i spat back
protests
complaints
requests
attacks
demands
i stood on
the high ground
of history
they didn’t care
as they
machine-gunned
me
down with
racism
rhetoric
reason
capitalism
profit
-
we honeymooned
in new jersey just
across the river
from the
big town
some guys
above
us wd piss out
the windows at
night and drop
used condoms
on the
fire escape
hanging out
side our own
window swollen
with their seed
it was the best
time of our lives
and we didn’t
need condoms
we had
each other
I remember this time so well as we had found this place online and it was a shithole with puke in the common bathroom that my wife would clean because no one else would have and we had to use it for the three days we were there
Outlaw Poetry 