Poetry

They come, inexorably, indomitably, indefatigably, as soldiers come before the guns to be wasted, mown down and come again until victory is won. Sentinels, they stand waiting the inevitable assault, beautifully disciplined to inevitable destruction, vivid now courageous, brave and true. Like me if I so dare. Like you. ƒ

I didn’t dream of you last night. I woke up screaming, bathed in sweat, gasping for breath, shouting, No! No! No! I didn’t sleep again last night, afraid to close my eyes. I lay there staring into the dark, thinking of you. Thank God. ♥

You want to see something? You want to hear something? You want to feel a thrill, a longing, a rhapsody of energy alive? Then do this: westbound thru Montana and behold the screaming soul of engineering coupled to the poetry of stamina and drive. Listen to the bell and stand aside. ƒ

It’s coming. They tell you it’s coming. You know it’s coming. It will come. You don’t know when exactly. It doesn’t matter. When it comes you’ll know. That’s soon enough. Well prepared are you? Everything in place? Ready to face it when it comes? No need to worry. You’ll find out soon enough. See you…

I saw a Newday outside my window this very morning, striding up my street in plain sight, not so very plain. Brilliant in resplendent colors, glowing gold and burnished red, aflame with luster, sparkling with a panoply of stars retiring for the night, a Newday breathing fire ready for mortal combat against fear, fatigue or…

All poets are blind or should be, blind to the world they see, yet given sight to see what is invisible.   All poets should stumble through other people’s lives, all the obstacles of a sighted world or what passes for sight.   All poets should write about what they cannot prove because no one…

Do you remember? Sure you do. You remember the night, the weather, the stars. I remember everything. So do you. You remember the music, the masterpiece upon the air and my reply to your alluring look. You remember what you wanted. I do too. Yet what I did not know, what you knew and your…

Long time now since my old friends and I got together. Axe in one hand, maul in the other, oak block on end, the thwack, clang and again, again until the wood gives up and lays open ready to light. As in life so in this. Strike and don’t miss. ♠

My grandfather got them so they say, so bad he sat in his chair motionless, sweat dripping from his face, his hands gripping the arms of the chair, his feet planted on the floor, the veins of his neck keeping time with the pain until it passed, until the horrible presence went away, knowing it…

“It’s like this,” he said. He said it real slow. Then he said, “Pass me that bottle.” The bottle held rye, a nice drink. Smooth and savory from single grain. He drank, but not too much, just a sip clean and neat. Then he put the glass down. The glass he’d poured into, his favorite…