Best Mortared Poems

Who is this man laying beside me?
You’re not my lover and I’m not your enemy
Searching and hoping for a familiar touch
Wanting and needing it just...

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She stood forlorn behind the chain link fence
Her mortared bricks still clinging to the earth
A battle lost with every gasping breath
Against the war of time...

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Within the woods, stood a wall of stone
molded by hands from a distant time.
Though roughly hewn, it had endured.

What narratives could it tell of its...

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Winter finally moves his lumpen sluggish weight,

Spring is like a shy dryad shivering in his arms

Wind's whippets droop to trifling whine

Sullen rain hisses to a...

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I hesitate for a moment outside the rod iron gates;
sensing behind those castle doors, a long past life awaits,
within those many mortared walls, rising high...

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The little brick school house
where Mama used to go,
sets quietly atop the hill
thru' summer heat and snow.

The bell on top is silent now,
the window shutters...

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The Providentiality of Farming in Giantvillism (Continued)

Jake: Make sure the crop is irrigated Giant.
Giant: That means make sure we provide water to each acre?
Jake: Yes.
Maddy:...

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"Cross Roads, Notes and Bridges"

Silence 
arrives 
in the spaces

between 

a conversation 
missing in the 
archives of love

music 
drowns 
the unnecessary

what point 
words then,
swords planted

in the...

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Reserving the right to break away unto a clear blue day; viewing

Certain labels upon the bottles and cans; time reeling in chains....

And they say that...

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Species sundry sentential 
Line the lost lowered loft
Whose weary wayward-ceiled 
Roof raises itself over the lot:
The diverse specimen bottles of pharmaceutic potations,
Mortared and mixed as...

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Mother buried hacked-up carp beneath 
pink rose mallow. She knew the filthy cats 
would come. A balled-up dirty rag 
and coffee tin of smelly kerosene...

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waiting in line.. in step... 
in monotones.. at mid afternoon.

waiting for a cup of coffee 
from a thin barista.

while outside it is raining..

outside the clouds...

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my mood swung like an uncontrollable pendulum.
most of my time was spent lashing out at everyone.
the weight of my achingly sad body felt like bricks...

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Even the ghosts have faded now,
splashes of gray like shadows
in a child's diorama.
They slip in and out of mortared cracks 
in my mind,
seeking a validation
I...

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Wheels of fire burn at the potters hands and feet.
Sweet passion of mortared clay;
fashioned on a potters wheel to be carried away.
Lamps holden in wheels...

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