Category: for someone else
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The Flight of the Narcissist
he thought the mist would hide his retreat but it only made it difficult to drive he turned on his wipers to see and did not look back 10-30-24
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Feral poet
(for an unnamed friend) She writes crazy and wild and spreads her scent in your front hallway, if you let her inside. She turns up her nose at Kibble & Bits, drops dead rodents and birds at your feet then saunters away like an Amazon queen. She births poems in the bushes and under the…
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Soul Train
A friend from childhood asked me to write a memorial poem for the passing of his 92 year old father; I asked him for nine things that remind him of his father and incorporated them within the context of the poem (I have removed his father’s name from this posting). ‘Soul Train’ No one chooses…
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Plumage
(for Harry Rogers) Feather pinwheels to my feet. I look up and do not see a bird, not even a gospel sparrow, maybe, it appeared from thin air. Do you know how to read omens? I imagine mystical things all around us piled up like snow drifts at our feet. Not every feather is a…
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Song for Sylvia
(poem written to the prompt: “Radio”) 1965, late at night, tune out the static on transistor radio, sneak into the kitchen, call in song requests for the young girl in the news Sylvia Likens, look her up, she has her own Wikipedia page abused, tortured and killed by several boys and her foster mom in…
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Phone calls with old friends
we speak of the approach of autumn the dimming light the struggle to gracefully hold on to the end of twigs before surrendering to the wind 8-25-2024
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Harrison Butker
or The Somnambulant Man in the middle of the night (comatose for decades) View Post he woke up struggled to feed himself left his dirty underwear on the bathroom floor everyone and everything had gone on without him his kids had grown up his wife had grown independent his mother had died while inside he…
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domestic prozac
Traumatized She would go out alone To the laundromat And watched clothes in the dryer For hours Tumble over one another Marveling That no one got hurt 5-16-24
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Convulsive Electric Blues
Hauntings of a Conscientious Objector: This morning, I remembered how, when the surgery rooms were slow, I’d sometimes assist in the psych ward and you recognized me that day, when I walked in to help in the electro-shock therapy room. Confused, I blurted out, “What are you doing here?” You said your parents kidnapped you…
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Reading Sylvia with Rain in the Forecast on Friday Afternoon
sitting in the side yard reading Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath on a Friday afternoon light breeze sways upper limbs of trees shadows dance is it mottled sunlight or mottled shade does it matter I’d like to tell her it will be alright but she wrote in permanent ink shroud poems woven with anguished threads…