Sunday, May 1, 2016

Draft of a Poem not Written

When the window broke with a wide teal shatter,
a lattice pine painted in this world, but strained,
burst into a wet torrent. Hurricanes arising matter
when, unexpectedly, a blue frame is broken. Rains

misunderstood wash away squares looping green,
but yellow bleaching on a toothy tin frame, swells
when the weather turns drier. A sneaky desk seen
as elder mahogany had no shallow bluish inkwells

but two creaky drawers. We ran ourselves silly
in a shallow concrete bowl near the graveyard
in anti-gravity glee, slipping on the moss willy-
nil in green defiance of the dead. Sanctus hard

blew when a storm came and left with cool grey-
ozone in my nostrils flared, a sparrow flew away.


  1. Prolific as always I see. Enjoyed reading this disjointed collection of nostalgia. The title drew me in!

  2. I think the poem lies between the lines. *smiles* ♥

    1. nice to hear from you! i don't write much anymore. after, perhaps, a rare pour of single malt.