send me home
softly softly
like an ancient wind
Category: poems
the wound
stolen like ocean out of sand
all the jokers on the land shout, ha!
painful echo taunting disfavored faces,
diluting their last cries into the grain.
nothin’ left now but the broken shell,
and all the pretty ladies admiring
the blood as it pours out of
the wound.
song
In a silent room
a song
falls
from his tongue,
meets her bare skin.
Now they’re humming the same tune.
misplaced
A misplaced kiss,
somewhere on the wind.
Her lips, waiting.
a matter-of-fact
dreamer of heartache
“she’s mad,” they whisper
“that’s love,” she shrugs
footprints
no pen put to paper
no whisper of a farewell
no regret
only footprints
dragonfly
rebel dragonfly
on the wrong side of the road
cheers from the sidelines
Some call it winter
…but we call it summer. Walked my dogs in this today:
Isn’t it supposed to be summer until the 22nd? And after that it’s supposed to be some season called ‘fall’… but I think that’s just a crazy rumour. Can anyone confirm this?
sweet tea
sweet tea
for a hollow morning
grey skies
Wild roses
By my feet
wild roses are whispering
tragedies through the fescue
grass; dramas caught on the wind.
Another prairie summer.
Some call it red 