Posts Tagged ‘Free Verse’

I have an old sandbox
in my yard
Sometimes I sit, and wonder
how much my hand
can hold, it’s hard to imagine.

It is the ashes of a long dead man
The once living measures of an hourglass
The world from the distance of a poet’s eye
A painting brushed on my backyard.
It is countless and endless and flowing
though it is finite and measurable.

I sit and remember how I used to play
how I used to do something
In this sandbox
other than sit and marvel at how
there is someone somewhere who knows
how much sand is in my hand
and from whence it came.

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I know a girl

I know a girl
Who thinks the world
Will disappear
If she blinks
And all the fear of pain and death
Is a monster under your bed
Which cannot remain
If a child will eat the bread
And drink the thunder of manhood

I know a girl who thinks she should

Create something twice a day
And when she is done
She prays until the sun
Should set over the dark wood                               

I know a girl who doesn’t
Read, or sing, or write poetry
Instead she becomes the thing
The book, the song, the philosophy
And when her eyes are tired
She dreams
She is the rock and the tree
Beside the stream


I know a girl who walks
by faith
instead of sight
That is why she loved to sleep
More than anything.
Deep in possibility
She could know everything her eyes
could never see
While she walked this wicked world.
I knew a girl.

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Sixth night, Seventh day

I taste Minerva’s fruit on your lips

The lasting sweetness of

The laws we fought

And the Freedom

We bought at the highest cost.

Plucked from the heart of Eden.


I cursed this morning

While I put on my clothes.

You wear a golden grasshopper

Hairpin, and the snake skin belt

You skinned yourself with a razorblade

From the back of Quetzalcoatl.


Now cobwebs stretched between

The dust covered bottles

Of vintage red wine

We bought to celebrate the

End of the world.

It’s off a good vine.

Tastes like Heaven, bites like a girl

Looks like blood.

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Off Beat

She allows time to pass, conducting it with her eyes
From behind a pair of glasses.
Steam clinging to the bottom like fog.
She sips from a freshly steeped cup
of English Imperialism and then holds it close to her nose.
She allows time to pass
Now fast. Now slow.
She lets another man take here where we are suppose to go.
He cares little for time and doesn’t get her.
But she gives anyway.
She is in control because she doesn’t know.
She thinks he will remove her from the burden of time.
Her heart beats.
Now fast. Now slow.

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