Grindstone
Haibun Poem Not even mid-week of the first full week. Overcrowded 10th graders chatter at every transition. Stephan already runs his mouth off. Alex and other repeaters quietly instigate just by talking and...
Tagged: new poetry
The Practice Room
Poem The door is thick, at least two inches but it won’t muffle the sound. It closes on this small place, the white paint peeling, the graffiti of distracted musicians fading from the walls. I...
I Can Remember My Dreams
Poem Here rest your head upon this pillow and sleep no more Simply rest That is all that is required You don’t know what to do so do nothing Nothing is an Art...
Firm Grasp
Poem A flight on the back of a kite Bruise the ego only when no one looks From on the other side maybe the French Way of settling discord Married unwittingly alongside The...
Dazed and Confused
Haibun Poem Voices droned on. About Chancellors’ regulations. Graduations. Assessment deadlines. In a whirl after I looked for colleagues to ask about free periods. Stapled borders to bulletin boards. Attended pointless Professional Development....
The Rain Song
Poem Rain, rain go away Come again another day Cold drops drench my head and Puddles soak my feet Rain, rain, go away, Wash some other street. Tiny rivers run down the road...
And The Rain Is Falling
Poem I sit on my desk, the rain is falling, an open window, thoughts are coming, passing by like train in fields of flowers, like night in day, it’s light in darkest hours…...
The Ghosts Do Not Whisper
Haunting Poem I know not why The ghosts do not whisper As the sequoias softly sigh But calmly I listen Why are the only voices That of the cabin’s moan And the memories...
Young Once
Poem Properly, your shoes plant On the ground off that last step Of the porch steps Momma looks on, her unwavering Glance Two things, faith and dynamite Which will be graced unto you...
Morningside
Poem She woke to dreams of kingdoms past That ruled her mind Guided fortune Arising she saw the sun peek through linen clouds Trapped between her and nature A cocoon between the real...
Last Pieces of Summer
Short Poem What are you doing!? Stop using your broom To brush the crunch away from my morning walk, To wipe away that crispy carpet. Don’t sweep up the last yellow pieces of...
