Stories tagged poem

21st Century Living

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there should be a word for it.

You, me, now, then

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If I seemed disappointed after our conversation, then, for the record, that was never the case.

Thanksgiving, 2018

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The cornbread for dressing cools./ The cranberries boil with one cup each/ of sugar and water. The aromas are nice

Puppet X, 4

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I'm not a practicing angel, ladies and gentlemen Got these penny wings out of boredom I need to know that black and grey place inside an angel where you bow your head, when a puppet forgets himself, when a man learns how smal

Winter Queen

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Love is

Mortality

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The list of things to live for/ shortens with age. The list of regrets/ lengthens.

Puppet X, 5

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A man learns too late How small deer laugh It’s true When a man goes mad Ropes come down from the clouds He cannot be sure of anything Anything The way’s uncharmed He thinks someone else’s strange thoughts And it all seems a simple

The Country Star

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He’s got horns and a tail I found him on sale He’s got snake in his DNA Evil in his eye And plenty of chicken pot, chicken pot Chicken pot pie But he sure can play piano With those giant lobster hands In his ratty raccoon coat And his

Life In the Underground

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Now they’re excavating tunnels Under Telegraph Avenue In order to house the souls Of some revolutionary poets who Say they suffered for mankind While fighting for standing room only In the Great San Francisco Poetry Wars You wanted to

Flurry

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If I had slept a little longer, I/ would not have seen this rarity at all.

Abandonment and Abundance

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I’m living at the Edge of Graffiti And yet I still survive Because I walked across the line Separating me from the rest of mankind You can see me out here I’m in so much pain All that’s written on my face I think it’s pretty plain

#likerain

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This is your mystery, your story Full of beauty and all-encompassing loveA brushstroke washes the canvas cleanYou start over with a new directionDreaming of me as you paint your wordsWriting just like Keats, Shelley and BrontëAbout sorrow, rain and the wheels of…

Warning:

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Warning: The cure for laughter is only temporary

Self Portrait Without Colors

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I am the ritual/ banalities of days numbered,/ numberless, and numb.

Future Children As Rocks

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I feel like I should tell you things about strength.