Category: Poems

I like your trees, I like the roots I don’t always see there below you and me, and I like the rusty bark you might wish was smooth. I like hanging in your canopy way up in your leaf-like roof. I like the little breeze, the way it blows your hair to here or there. […]

the old rusted rocks, cold and covered in snow-splatters across that precipice, bring forth the evergreen not as likely seen on summer days, and as the sun can’t sink to shove off shadow, the old Colorado teases us to think she plays dead, but instead, she lies alive and in search of even one grain […]

Gotham sits quiet, as the bridge-and-tunnel clan trudges home, while Batman reads his poetry on a channel all his own, and no one’s watching, no one’s watching, as the streets receive their shine, as the trash along the Cumberland will tarry with the crime. the searchlight wavers to-and-fro, the hero will not come, our hope […]

we crossed the Willamette on Steel, as the sun tore through the black truss, and the waters below, they beckoned us to jump, like fools on some adventure, perhaps to the plight of carpe diem, or, as likely, to some muddy grave, I know not the difference of the two, though the rusty river, swallowing […]

oh ginkgo, don’t let your heart go again, stay green this fall when all that change begins, when winter brings the ways of death to strip you of your skin, my tree of butterflies, with cocoons of broken sin, know the ways that Jack Frost lies on night’s before his win, soak up the warmth […]

I’ve had enough of your chutzpah, where the pot and the kettle prepare to paint the silverware black, so sure in your attack and even convinced that some benevolence from above anointed you in fate, and yet, so much hate is masked by love, and as for me, I’ve had enough of every little thing […]

the moon is gone again, away from current view, it’s slipped behind some cirrus cloud, away from me and you there was no silver lining in the streaks that hid its shine, no hope below could lift us up to where the cloud would climb, yet all the while in hopeful gaze, we knew with […]

let us decorate Abu Ghraib with words, lay out the old welcome mat for a quaint little tea party, and all the dolls and one stuffed animal are here to fill these halls like guests we dress or undress them in silliness, so do what you’re told – work hard, play harder, and kill only […]