18200
|
First SeenI think I tried the crossword puzzle first,gave up, turned on the air, had Chex® and popthat didn't do enough to quench my thirst.My stomach turned as we began to dropand I rushed to belt in and sit straight, dryas twine, and just as taut. Man, I was tight!I was…
|
12600
|
For Mother's Day 2005I plop upon the bed. My foot is sore.You change into your jams and grab a book.We settle in. A scratching at the doorand I stand, let the cat in, and head backto bed. I settle in. We don't have waters.You rise and bring your glass around the bedand take…
|
19821
|
First off, the tree is crooked. Down I goto struggle with four sappy, rusty screwsthat will not budge. Outside, the dusky snowcollects upon the porch. My daughter chewsa clear bulb, disembodied from its string.“Do you want glass inside your mouth?” I…
|
117100
|
Her hair’s the color of LA at night
On such occasions when the Santa Anas
Have left the hills bone-dry and burning bright
|
105841
|
This poem first appeared in “Walt’s Corner” of The Long Islander, founded by Walt Whitman in 1838.
|
102960
|
Where the fuck are my keys?Where the hell is my phone?Where the fuck are my keys?Where the hell is my phone?Where the fuck are my keys?Where the hell is my phone?Where the fuck are my keys?Where the hell is my phone?Where the fuck are my keys?Where the hell is my…
|
121621
|
Gracious have been my years of late;
The windy drifts blown soft.
Truth be told, such luck seemeth bait
Eliciting doubts and wonderings.
|
33442
|
"You mark my word: he'll put her on a bus back home one day. . ."
|
66322
|
… is closed Now Drake Hughes was a swell welcoming manAnd Ann, his wife, had Freudian issuesOne day by the well with knife and a planAnn, sweet-sweet Ann, became sweet widow Hughes.Now Drake was a fake, but a welcoming guyHis…
|
87832
|
For we sit together, deeply drinking/thirsting after naught but peaceful thinking.
|
63730
|
Becoming truer heroes on our own.
|
85310
|
Shit, I guess I'm gonna hafta
|
188104
|
Like honey drips, like notes of a sonata come,
Like a chrysalis is made and then abandoned,
Like the bed of a river widens over years--
Slow, slow is how my love is meant to reach for you.
|
120252
|
Last night I dreamt of water rose too high.
|
102138
|
"...the connection between sex and the metaphor..."
|