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[JESUS LOVES YOU MORE THAN ANYBODY, BUT HE'S DEAD. NO-ONE COULD EVER LOVE YOU AS MUCH, OR YOU THEM, SO DON'T EVEN TRY. HAVE A NICE LIFE! MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!]
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So many ingenious traps for catching and hamstringing female poets have been invented that it is a rare editor who ever really sees one. H.L. Mencken
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1397198
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Evening was drawing nigh and Mosby's horse had tired from the daylong ride.
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One of the poems in my collection, One Day Tells its Tale to Another, published December 16, 2012. Available on Amazon. My first book!
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Go diddle in the sand//
to save some other sinner/
a death of stones.
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No jagged bits of crust were thrust up/
through the prairie’s black gumbo/
to give us cataclysmic mountain views.
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The world doesn'tend just becauseyou want it to.Bonus poems:The Poet(Series 1)by Darryl PricePoet in a TreeYeah, well, it's not up here either. Although the everything and nothing view is nice. Only because it doesn't have any abandoned cars in it. I'm…
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Trees gaining maturity that waited in the sun, in the bursting mornings and long afternoons, became restless now in new night textures. Sometimes the wind that came before the storm seemed to be intelligent, and follow some unseen but labyrinthine pathway. But now it…
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Voluntary exiles spread fears and feces, diseases and monstrosities, all the suffering and suffocation, ruthlessness and rootlessness of the world, just like a horsefly that cheekily spreads its filthy eggs in the most paradisiacal corners of the earth. Hence the…
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Like puddles when it rains,
like relationships in chains.
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Walking alone, underneath thin, moonlit clouds, the world began to unfold and shows it guts. Deep within the Colorado mountains, miles from the nearest convenience store or free wi-fi connection, I started to merge into the implicate.
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kindergarteners
sent to class with
Uzis
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Oh, wait — loosen the ropes, you say? Sorry. Can't do that.
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A bum leaves his shopping cart
in the middle of the intersection
at 7th Ave and Perry St
and walks away
leaving everything behind
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Maybe there was no truth. Things had become so strange that sometimes Jannsun suspected that everything had already happened and we were just toying with selective memory.
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We should put him out of his misery.
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She doesn’t notice the small group of women in saris, emerald and garnet, sapphire and citrine, the cloth covered with mirrors glinting in the light. Or how they link plump brown arms, frightened or delighted by the attention, huddled close, bird-like ch
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I was sent here to perform the autopsy
on the norm, the status quo, the bourgeois.
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The Rapture comes and goes unannounced in carbonated soda bubbles spicing the air.
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Snow was falling. People passed by the window and wore large coats. Inside, Alex stood in front of the window and watched.
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He asked what I used for birth control and I told him, “prayer”. He smiled the kind of smile you smile at young girls who don’t know any better.
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At night, I wake up, and Daddy's in the bathroom with a hanger in his mouth....
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... must we turn again (and again)/
to an orchestra stripped of wind and drum?
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Most loss control specialists wear standard rent-a-cop outfits, but notSister Joseph Arimathea and Sister Mary Clarus, who wear the grey, white and black habits of the Precious Blood Sisters.
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I am Gloria, age nine, standing with my left hand on the green gate to the yard of the farmhouse that I will always consider Home
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Ginny, the mother, was a lark in every respect of the word. Born and raised in central California farm country, to a family of lower middle class means, educated in public schools in whose bathroom stalls she was deflowered as unceremoniously as a pig ta
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I'm fascinated by Don's evolution . . .
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I didn't much care for the graveyard anymore now that so many people I knew where layin' in it.
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The bull had flesh of a deep red that turned black where the massive muscles knotted. Colt thought of the way blood turns black when it pools too deep. There was nothing but muscle, an intricate network of coarse fibers woven tightly and wrapped in a thin
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