May 28, 2017

Posts from "Poetry"

  • Poetry | Oct.27, 2011

    Remember Me?

    The fear. It presses down upon your chest with unimaginable force. Paranoia sets in. You glance over your shoulder time and time again. There is nothing. It’s all in your head. Suddenly, you can hear a voice. It is far away and you cannot discern where it is coming from. Perhaps it was just a whisper in the wind. After all, the window is open. Explosion. The voice returns. It’s screaming at you from within your skull. Shouting. Cursing. Blaspheming. The voice is hoarse, and disconcerting. It is evil. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” you yell back as you writhe around your bed in an overwhelming mix of pain, and fear. At last, the voice fades away into the night as quickly as it arrived. With the departure of the voice comes a feeling of weightlessness. You feel as though the anchor on your heart has been cut free. The fog has lifted. You lay in bed and bask in the glory. But as you celebrate, the voice creeps back into your mind. It is calm, and begging the question: “Remember me?”

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  • Poetry | Oct.20, 2011

    Three Offerings

    He stood there at collapse of dusk

    Where the rolling tide flowed and ebbed.

    The wind beat at his rugged face,

    And the waves washed away where he’d tread.

    He’d oft seen the sunset and slept with the moon,

    The lone light to shine where he lied,

    And now, as the crescent climbed up to her perch,

    He cradled his head, and he cried….

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  • Poetry | Oct.20, 2011

    From the Moon of a Gas Giant

    Black orb over the waterfall, Black mast, slim and tall; White ship, sails dead, White birds overhead, The bright star watching everything And a great tree over me. I sat beneath the arbor grand, Black reeds in my hand And I, upon the satellite— Black orb, pulling through the night Its precious cargo, green and fair, And I, a tiny freckle there, Along for the ride.

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  • Poetry | Oct.20, 2011

    Tropical Acres

    Martha and Robert

    Lived in Tropical Acres

    For many winter breaks.

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  • Features | Oct.06, 2011

    The Man Who Stands

    I am the man who stands in the rain and watches the puddles form beneath my feet, when my brain begins to function like a toy with a battery inside, dampened by the weather and sputtering electricity out of my ears, behind my eyes, and down from my nose….

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  • Poetry | Oct.06, 2011

    Beyond the Grave


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  • Poetry | Oct.06, 2011


    She eases the stress

    Of the scorching sun

    Like a mother soothes

    A sobbing child.

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  • Poetry | Oct.06, 2011

    The Wasteland

    I wandered a wasteland of wholesome distraction,

    Of writhing and twisting in God-fearing ways,

    And I searched for a quantum of dissatisfaction, With the dreams of an earlier age

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  • Poetry | Oct.06, 2011


    Dancing through the tables

    The mess hall is a stable

    Pastels and paisley

    All washed out and rococo

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