Poetry

Poetry from abroad

ImageEye of the storm
Ten minutes to heaven
Abstract love and heady wine
Writers of poetry never
Sleep on airplanes
And winners of fortune never
Bet on a Wednesday
My mother was a tiger
And my father made of sand
We were all born late in winter
Never walked upon dry land
Summer
We all melted into glass
Fused together
Like a burnt and wary accident
On a Tuesday when
No one showed up for work
I was all smiles on Monday
When my father drove me home
By the weekend I was parentless
Naked and alone
I worked through all my problems
I dismissed them one by one
Finally
I was allowed to have some fun
I walked the streets at night
Ran naked in the sun
Empty

Thoughtless
An enemy of the state
A child on the run
Clues
A dozen or so fallen by the wayside
You, for one
A basilisk, a shadow
A nymph or satyr, demon not
Chosen
Truth and fiction
Beauty beyond reason
In bed I lie
In the morning I steal
For you I felt nothing
As for me, nothing was real

9/10/2013