Category Archives: Literature

Sounds of the Sun

Trembling below hearing, we would notice only if it stopped. Startled, we would stop, naked of the sound we wear as skin. Throbbing like the heart of someone we love far away. Low mountains of sound vibrate against the snow. … Continue reading

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Death Backed Away

Death came near. Death backed away. … She never leaves without a fare-well gift: Scars, fears, memories, A limp, a pain, a tremor. … She never leaves entirely, Like a dimness that never blackens: Whispers, shadows, shades. … She never … Continue reading

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I’d like

I’d like a wind-up watch, they don’t need instructions. I’d like a key that isn’t a card, my Visa won’t open a door. I’d like a tan that comes from the sun, the liquid turns me orange. I’d like a … Continue reading

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Gratitude in Three Stages of Life

Are you sure your friend knows that you like her? She helped you cheat on the history test, She distracted your mother as you went through her purse. Of all birthday gifts, hers was always the best. So take time, … Continue reading

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Conspiracy Conspiracy

I now know the truth, I figured it out. There’s a New Wold Order, LBJ killed JFK, Paul is Dead and Jews conspire to rule. The army shot a plane down over Long Island Sound. The CIA caused 9/11, aliens … Continue reading

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Poetry for Children

I sat down to read some poems for children. I’m shocked how the poets kill ’em: Falling out of their cradles, eating too much string, For laughing as a hearse goes by, Burned alive for telling a lie, Don’t forget … Continue reading

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Surfeit of Nonsense

This morning I woke up with the word “surfeit” in my mind. No idea why. I couldn’t remember whether it meant too many or not enough. So I had fun with a thesaurus. This is a participatory poem. Add your … Continue reading

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The Ballad of Ol’ Tom Rat, or The Man Who Lost His Shadow

Ol’ man Rat was a foul old man. His children, his grandchildren, his brother and his wife All told him so again and again. … His dog ran away again and again. The catcher caught that dog every single time. … Continue reading

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Non-poets are clueless

    “A book is not a thing of one sitting, like a poem…..” Patricia Highsmith: Brilliant, but clearly never wrote a poem

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Ghost

Ghost My grandmother wore a white sheet on Halloween. Black oxford stout-heeled shoes poked out from under the hem. She walked with her familiar rock to side to side. Her pale blue eyes glinted through the eye holes. She was … Continue reading

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