first I woke the birds clumsy steps on crumbling asphalt it was the antidepressants an undiagnosed chemical stroke my mood uplifted my right foot dragging on occasion tripping over carpet or in this case turd-black pebbles clattering waking hidden birds hearing their first peeps and calls three voices then four in the same tree then the block waking up
then I woke the wind my fingers flung wide walking down the middle of the street pulling the still air apart churning it with my blunt nails I never guessed the effort would create a clash of swords above sharp blades dropping onto parked cars an answering click and tinkle frozen blood drops are black not red
then the car lights brighter than porch lights jealous of the brightness of the sun sneering at the moon painting me in negative across clapboard expanses and concrete stoops unknown and thus malign my lack of proportion exaggerated
lastly the people shut away behind glass smeary or clear no difference squinting to see me and judge the hunched pack on my back they way I come open mouthed always disputing with god like he was a boss I could teach something to dictating new scripture though it makes a certain sense not a Hebrew just a modern era slave ignorant to the scent of rebellion
a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
Today’s pandora box is possessed, spirits within are legion, living bogeys are numerous, ever so often drunk, every day pandora hypnotizes followers, 24/7 pandora mesmerizes- adherents- making billions addicted to vacuum tube. Ancient gods- mild or ferocious- pandora has rebranded,
A New Dawn Justice Eluded her But she was On Run Till last gasp But soon surrounded The foul air Lies and deceit Confusion thicken With Past ,pre past links of delinked Whither the path? Now energy lost Treading forward
Count your blessings you’re still here it’s 2018 another wonderous year. 2017 has passed us by ain’t it truly funny how time can really fly. Was 2017 a scream or just routine? Did it make you hoot and holler, kept
’tis a playing field for many kinds out in the arena, to discern the companionship of the puissant sun ’tis a hot, new summer day , blithe and sound maketh thou run, run, run… syrupy voice of nightingale, fills candied
This day of sixty fruitful weeks shadow pristine relics of bundled keepsakes adorned in obsolete gazettes of passing snow storms, puppy training and next door’s junk mail. Transition logs re-call six states, five military orders, four duty stations, six rusted
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