#A▪Poem▪A▪Day

#from_the_archives

primetime

I stare at the ocean
while Bartholomew
flies in dizzy circles
as all hungry seagulls do.

Vicki drops chips
sour cream and onion
by my head,
enticing Bart to say hello,
pulling him from the flock.

Seagulls lead soap opera lives –
Jennifer and Harold have run off together,
leaving Hilda and George to comfort
each other in their loss.

Then all take wing,
and the cast gathers elsewhere,
to mutely continue their heart-wrenching saga.

I stare at the ocean,
potato chips litter the sand by my face,
wondering…

will Bart ever make prime time?

1986

NOTE: First jotted down during spring break 1984, then fiddled with a bit later. It's a memory, an observation, and in the voice of a much younger me.

Horror Writing Prompt #2184: #cruciform
#horrorprompt

in the fallow field

I see you
standing in the tall grass
your arms reach out, wide open
you lift your face to God,
cruciform perfection.

I watch you
elbows form angles
the strawman dances
you fall to the ground
as the crow circles.

05-11-2026

#from_the_archives

drifting

Drifting in the tide
of a warm summer's day
her spray wet on your brow.
An icy cold soda and coconut oil,
how are we doing now?

The sky will shine hot
on this long summer day,and
the ferris wheel broke last spring.
We're waiting for Fall,
but maybe the dawn
would really be just the right thing.

Drifting in the tide
on an old rubber raft,
wondering why it is night.
And the pier was knocked down,
the For Sale sign is gone,
and Summer took off in flight.

1983

Written in the summer between high school and college.

#from_the_archives

obloquy

The words that flew across the table
were armed like guns loaded with blanks.

Words full of impact,
without significance.

Chosen without care or courage,
blank ammunition fired blindly
ricochets, then
lands
at the feet of their abusers.


1982

#from_the_archives

chrysalis

I tried to grasp the elusive,
but found empty hands.
No words of mine could embrace
your joys and heartaches.

My offering to you
is nothing more
than a shell.

Hard, brittle, delicate --
abundant with unfulfilled sentiment.

Or perhaps it is a
chrysalis
a place of waiting
a place of wanting.

We wait as the butterfly unfolds.

2002