#portent
For the first time in my
life, I saw colors- not like
normal people see colors; my recent woman
sees colors all the time.
This morning, there was
purple splashed all over my room.
Once, in her sleep, she said
the word 'purple.'
I asked her what it meant,
she said, 'Knowledge of the future.'
I know she will try and ***** this
sickness out of me; God Bless her.
What do I know about the future?
I know it looks bleak, and the
doves are crying.
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 12:50 PM UTC
Instruction
by Michael R. Burch
Toss this poem aside
to the filigreed and the prettified tide
of sunset.
Strike my name,
and still it is all the same.
The onset
of night is in the despairing skies;
each hut shuts its bright bewildered eyes.
The wind sighs
and my heart sighs with her—
my only companion, O Lovely Drifter!
Still, men are not wise.
The moon appears; the arms of the wind lift her,
pooling the light of her silver portent,
while men, impatient,
are beings of hurried and harried despair.
Now willows entangle their fragrant hair.
Men sleep.
Cornsilk tassels the moonbright air.
Deep is the sea; the stars are fair.
I reap.
Originally published by Romantics Quarterly.
Keywords/Tags: instruction, sunset, night, skies, wind, sighs, moon, silver, portent, sea, stars
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 4:40 AM UTC
GETTING AHEAD OF OURSELVES
We have come far, but in the wrong
direction. Our achievements have
become our bereavements. Bombs,
not beauty, are our apotheosis. We
cling to the penultimate. We have
trouble seeing, breathing. Finally,
we shall have trouble living. Soon,
it seems, we shall cross the finish
line, but running backwards.
Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
Jan 18, 2020
Jan 18, 2020 at 4:54 PM UTC