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 May 2014 John Douglas
Chris
There's a faded scar on my right shoulder
from three summers ago,
two more on my left from this winter.
One on my chin from the pavement
that got the better of an 8 year old
who couldn't say "no",
and another on my wrist
to remind me that metal detectors
no longer find me empty.

It's alright that you left,
but please don't act
like I'll just be okay again.
I don't heal well,
never have.
 May 2014 John Douglas
Tryst
The poet is a ponderer
A wordy wizened warrior
Their rhythms revel to reveal
The wonder of a wanderer

Unfurling mighty metaphors
For golden grains on sandy shores
They sail upon a penmanship
Of paper hulls and pencil oars

— The End —