Poems
She Knows
She knows she’s going to die.
Poems
Little ways to say a lot
Poems
Happy Dancing
You did dizzy. Then spun around In mind and dream Like you do in this chair. Like you as a toddler Your spin dance In the center of the kitchen, Head back, Eyes on ceiling fan, In twirls, “I’m happy now! I’m Dancing! I’m Dancing, now! I’
Poems
Ugly Dogs
I freaking love ugly dogs!
Ma
A Couple Frozen Waffles
Sitting and watching the sunrise With no one but your sleepy dog, A cup of tea and a frozen waffle. That's a good life. When a hawk flies Fast by my window Just after Sunrise, I wonder what it means. The hawk wonders how I can be up
Poems
Home
What about the tree that made the Cross that Jesus bore? What about such a light, on the field, That was seen, that was His dream then? Such a light on a tree alight some yesterday, So far away from so far away from some yesterday. No today, know today.
Ma
A Tree on Purpose
The Great Blue Heron Leapt! Then dove! Eagle like stabbed and grabbed, and set down to eat the catch the size of his head. He knows; I’m here. It’s raining; I’m in the car. Not only has he noticed; He walked over. Always a straight line of
Poems
What Comes After New
There’s nothing new in a morning, Sunrise is a promise kept. Not something ancient. Never something new. What comes before ancient. What comes after new. The Sun is never shock. Daylight decided dawns. ~ Wynn ~
Poems
The Song Between The Suns
Where is peace of mind if you can't hear An angels song at four in the morning? The house asleep. The dog even annoyed You're making so much noise. Where is the poetry of youth? In mid-aged men. Kept quiet too long. In fathers in
Poems
Black Tar Gone Gray
thin blue chalk line up on black tar gone gray called concrete curbs set -not reset- since The Great Depression. where old weeds the same weeds new weeds grow sometimes, though sometimes a dandelion grows, too sometimes, though some time a kid picks it up -plucks it up- blows the
Poems
As This Poem
My favorite poem of mine. I don't swear often in verse. But as a poet's job is word choice, it's the right one. As This Poem This fucking world; it's so beautiful, But the stories we tell each other. -fuck- I wonder
Poems
Fire Dancing Freedom’s Fire
For, My a Angel-Oh! Singed, while her house Went up in smoke. While her neighbors, -numbed and dutiful- -drummed the usual- Clutched their masks To cough in an elbow. In this suffocation: Low never knew Low, -And- Dark never knew Dark -And- Hell was a thing that chilled, While
Poems
The Pulse We Step To
Each day is a relay, a baton for tomorrow, For adding to the dream you dream you dream is you. Life is not a race against time, but a matter of the intention of each moment. One pixelated promise, not promised. There’s no way to hold a moment. What