Best Blasted Poems

Upon the wind sheltered hillside,
the sharp tang of metal and the sting of salt air lay
over a field of blood-red poppies, no Flanders Field.

At years...

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Courage of Youth, Battle of Ypres, Flanders Field
(A Tribute)

Tough as nails young man with a red right hand
red-fire and whiskey ran in his blood.
Courageous seed...

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He just appeared to me, like wispily curling 
Chimney smoke, 
One grim and early morning in the very midst of 
Decembers briefest days, on the...

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Window cleaning is my trade and I want to tell my story
Like the time I saw the Vicars wife in the bath in all her...

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I’ve picked it up a hundred times
yet dropped it just once more
So I give up, the blasted thing
can lay there on the floor

And stepping out...

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Darkness Where Now Poe And Raven Reside,
(Part Two)

Song over, Poe told demon band to leave
And then pointed to the now empty stage
Wretched souls, look as...

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At a carnival- in my dream
I saw an old man had made 
a rocket - and blasted off
I saw it go overhead and at first...

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The mica-flecked granite outcroppings loom,
releasing bits of themselves randomly 
sparkling, as they fall, in felted-light they bloom. 

Blasted cliffs, yet brazen, they rise without decree,
unconcerned...

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FRED THE PERV.

Kinky Fred stole knickers off the line
One summer night his haul totalled nine
His spree ended in tears
Got an extra ten years
When Judge Sue...

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The White Stallion Arrives


The White horse came in so very fast
with purpose and great deeds to last
Arriving in a spirited tour de force
evil alerted, took...

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I, to the pasture's green could run, 
and fly a kite beside the sun,
but choose, I do, to linger still, 
among the dirt, what is...

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The harlot maples crimson tipped nails
tap, drum, strum, and plunk;
at Aprils blasted blue sky.
Raking a wind born trail 
across skeletal palms
and forearmed branches,
in a come-hither...

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Just say no to sunshine
Trying to penetrate your dark doom
Wrap your black cloud around its fire 
Smoother it in your tears, in your grief
In your...

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This is the last poem on the history of Felicity, a person I know from correspondence with a friend abroad.  No relation of mine.

In...

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2017 - year zero

They loaned to the poor, who cannot repay.
They stole from the old, who cannot recover.
They sold our future, for better or worse
and...

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