“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label wrapped. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wrapped. Show all posts
Saturday, February 6, 2016
Linger to hear you near
I am
listen-
in
g
hiding
in the music
tapping
my shoulder
blade behind me
down
the hall
jumping out
at the antique
store
always
waiting
buried in a book
obscure
wrapping up
in warm words
under
lines
Cannons
re-loaded
taking the heat
under
fire-
gun to temple
questioning
fore-
head
drops
(off...)
taking it all
in
I am
listen-
in
g
for
you.
Image by Ferdinand Leeke (1859-1937)[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Lip sticks and stones
The way my name sits in your mouth, at least, you want it to. The 'a' hanging an ellipses on the sound waves. The rattling of conso...
-
A year ago this May, in fact, upon this same very grey day- something came over me I found could say, in no other way but to portray, ...
-
Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...
-
Failure is all the rage these days. I have been practicing, and I understand the rage. Someone said that melancholy is tragedy handled well....
