Poetry
Poetry
Reverb
Day six dawned breathingwords echoing nightfallThe reverb cut clean. *** Art Credit: Reverb by Tamara Spence
Audio Collage
I went to hear my favorite poet speak, And was pleased to find that So many had come To hear and be touched by his gentle verse. And yet upon reflection, I wonder if we really heard The message he weaves through words. When it was all over, Fragments of a dozen conversations Drifted to
Lovers
Who is this person? The one in my mind, Awake or asleep, So gentle, so warm, The one who touches me Completely, For the first time. The mind falls silent, Bowing to heart’s Whispered reply.
Blamed
Your voice is too friendly,Your smile too inviting,Your laugh too welcoming.Don’t speak.You’re giving these people the wrong idea.Be silent. White powder spread across the table,glass bottles scattered on the floor;the loud men filling the roomgrow more menacing with each snort of cocaine.Such peace for me in his chaotic lifewhen he doesn’t notice me.He reminds me,“Lock
Cleveland
White antlers of the night exacerbate my soul. There were gerbils at angles unheard of, perpendicular to themselves. These gerbils: my little sister in her prom dress more expensive than mine. This was in Cleveland. And so on. And so on. This is the kind of thing they mostly print these days, desperate attempts to
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Novels and Collected Works
Reverb
Day six dawned breathingwords echoing nightfallThe reverb cut clean. *** Art Credit: Reverb by Tamara Spence
Audio Collage
I went to hear my favorite poet speak, And was pleased to find that So many had come To hear and be touched by his gentle verse. And yet upon reflection, I wonder if we really heard The message he weaves through words. When it was all over, Fragments of a dozen conversations Drifted to
Lovers
Who is this person? The one in my mind, Awake or asleep, So gentle, so warm, The one who touches me Completely, For the first time. The mind falls silent, Bowing to heart’s Whispered reply.
Blamed
Your voice is too friendly,Your smile too inviting,Your laugh too welcoming.Don’t speak.You’re giving these people the wrong idea.Be silent. White powder spread across the table,glass bottles scattered on the floor;the loud men filling the roomgrow more menacing with each snort of cocaine.Such peace for me in his chaotic lifewhen he doesn’t notice me.He reminds me,“Lock
Cleveland
White antlers of the night exacerbate my soul. There were gerbils at angles unheard of, perpendicular to themselves. These gerbils: my little sister in her prom dress more expensive than mine. This was in Cleveland. And so on. And so on. This is the kind of thing they mostly print these days, desperate attempts to