Feathertips
Your hands
gently tracing
my face, my neck, my arms
before encircling my waist and
my heart.
Your hands
gently tracing
my face, my neck, my arms
before encircling my waist and
my heart.
Waiting,
with bated breath,
to find out if you will
return my attention, feelings,
or call.
Prophets
and doomsayers
herald the end of days
or, perhaps, just another false
future.
Party:
plenty of food,
games involving liquor,
and sharing stories with old friends
and new.
Nation,
born of fire,
remembers its birthday
with a shining festival of
fire.
The pot
shouted and railed
about its uniqueness
and the kettle replied “But we’re
the same.”
July
the style choice
is a cascading one
that is known by the lovely name:
Cinquain.
There’s too many crooks, gangsters, and tools
all too ready to pull the trigger and play the fool
too lost in their own petty indignation
that they’re poisoning the next generation
they don’t even see we’re at the end of our rope
‘cause they’re too busy throwing away our hope.
Now we’ve each got a story to tell
of walkin’ through this godforsaken hell
so say it loud and say it proud
tell it to your friends and tell it to the crowd
stand up, raise your voice, and be counted
‘cause we ain’t the valley, we’re the mountain.
I am afraid.
I’m shaking,
inconstant,
and so weak.
All too ready to run screaming into the night
for fear of the Machiavellian shadows
around me,
beside me,
within me.
I am afraid.
Sleep hated me so much,
she fought with me all night long.
Sleep loved me so much,
she barely let me leave this morning.