Best Bookends Poems

Weekends are a little like
Bookends

They stop you falling
Or lolling too far over
So you don't appear untidy or
At least not so
Uncomfortable

They keep you straight
Give you 
Purpose
Show...

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Evil’s Bookends


Sept 8, 2001, 7:30PM
The limo arrives
the concierge opens the doors
to a clear cool night in the city,
a first Broadway Play.
A cell phone call, a...

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Awake in the darkness, curtains are not drawn,
sky a deep Prussian blue, with no sign of the dawn.
Daybreak six fifty-five, two more hours to go
'till...

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There once was a picture that wormed itself into my reverie
On a gray, cloudy morning, whilst it was raining and cold.
In this one picture were...

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Many memories have I beheld
all present and all knowing
a loving family I protect
within these walls, years flowing.

Alas, the bookends of time
came crashing down  this...

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Like bookends, Grandma and Grandpa —
those smiles — only one wears the apron
and the music, classical and gypsy

I was glowing in their eyes, growing
only for...

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Novelists and Nobodies

Ah, now this my domain, the library
Where cultures collide.

Men of leisure reeking from their latest dumpster dive
mingling with men in leisure suits studiously...

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the parishioner sits on my lap.
his little legs dangle, his
beat up sandals slip.

i raise his hand with mine.
he pulls it back.
i clap.
his hands, like bookends
put...

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Some think that the word poetry
should be tossed upon the shelf,
and wedged between two angry bookends: 
'what' and 'ever'....

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Silence, 
We define it as the complete absence of sound but this definition fails to capture the profundity of the subject.
As humans, our earliest existence...

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What a game ...
he was just a jester,
and this a ghastly prospect ...

The ground lay torn open before him,
a wound in the earth that called...

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                        ...

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Old people, like treasure, don’t come empty handed,
Their time here, their wisdom, like gold on display,
An empathic spirit who mines without stealing,
Will find that there’s...

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It's all your fault
 Charles Mortington Parsons
 Designer of landscapes
 Extraordinaire
 That no one has a sense of time anymore
 
Green lawns appear
 Instantly overnight
...

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(a love poem for my son)

Dreams spill out of sleep
sift across the hardwood floor
covers the window 
in colors of May

slamming me back towards childhood
or perhaps...

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