Best Marginal Poems

marx and religion
charles darwin hated them
he loved us,envy...

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My island slept for years in the care
Of Tainos, Caribs and Arawak
Their canoes on the sea breast bare
Dreaming of milk from manioc
The swamps unscarred, trees...

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Public transpo buses are a poor man's taxicab,
but you can't hail a ride when you need one
You must sit and wait on a wooden street...

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Finding Abigail

“Abigail! ~Abigail!...where are you, my love?
I can’t see you, nor smell you, let alone touch you…”

A nebulous cloud encroaches the corridors of mind,
Where a...

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The winding roads weave in and out
Through the thick murkiness of my mind
Molass density permeates this soupy blackout 
Opening the door for foggy convoluted whimsy
A...

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Considering how many times I set out to pen a small,
Master piece of art, a gem that might underwrite,
The utter liability of being just that...

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As soon as I convince myself that food is not my friend
This one-sided relationship will all come to an end

Each day when I arise I...

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Wild blueberries taste 
beyond the pale
of domestic cultivars,
sweetness cut by granite acidity
underlain by the spice 
of marginal existence.

A blueberry’s destiny
is realized through consumption.
I satisfy as...

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I know you invited the Brothers to side-line along,
but only if we are here to listen;
Don't speak.

Yet I may have credential for qualifying voice.
For I,...

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Bursting moments
     on Winters' first day
Fuzzy light
    to show a seasoned way
Marginal fog
     on...

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Banish listening, and teachings end.
     Between "Yes!" and "No!"
     How much spectral difference is there?
Between healthy "live"...

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He who seeks pain for pleasure is a real aboriginal,
Runs slowly yet leads subservient to international.
He who has a mental condition stable aberrational
And is clearly...

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I have heard many moms repeat
"You never stop being a parent."

Sadly, I don't see or hear that quite so much from the dads,
although I know...

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About Bill Posters and Bill Greenwell

Words not to use in poems

In 1993, I (Bill Greenwell) went on a three-day workshop with the poet Peter Sansom,...

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Make hay while the sun shines.

I grew up as a closeted polypathic nature-mystic
on a marginal, at best, family farm
in Michigan.

This farm was my embryonic home,
an...

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