Phillip Garcia Poet Sonnet

Black Powder

I’m broke ‘n’ don’t think I like it too much.
Last night’s cab ride.  No one turns the wheel now.
I stare through cathedrals whose glass I can’t touch.
I want to go home but I can’t see how.
Snow blind.  A slow rolling conveyor belt.
Fresh plumes of spiraled smoke smoldering air.
A fire outside.  Flooded roads start to melt.
I want to get out but can’t pay the fare.
Grey sparrows take refuge in candlelight song,
their throaty notes grapple Gregorian chants.
I’ve stolen music where short breaths draw long;
where spared by my own Dark’s draconian dance.
Slow down the belt.    Thin tin buckles.    Louder.
Churned poverty stops - returns as black powder.


11/13/2018

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Brandy Nicole November 24, 2018 at 1:42 PM Wow!! What a ride!! I am thinking your thoughts were a bit clouded- perhaps eyes in a daze. Could be both. Who knows, but I do know this is wild. :) In so many ways. You are such a talented writer. ~ Brandy Phillip Garcia November 24, 2018 at 1:48 PM They're always a but clouded and in a daze. :) thank you so much for the lovely comment, very much appreciated.

Connie Marcum Wong November 15, 2018 at 7:08 PM Your talented pen always draws me in Phillip. Your words never disappoint! Excellent! I hope this is a top winner! : )