Best Steeple Poems

October: I'm eighteen, shortcutting home
through an autumn-burnished churchyard -
copper-lustred leaves, moss-skinned stone -
a jaunty swing of skater skirt and arm,
college folder square-sturdy in my hand.
In...

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Like no one before, nor since
 you painted that starry night in oils
  superimposing your life story.

I feel I know this idyllic village
 blanketed...

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An infinite door of midnight blue;
glowing peephole that is the moon.
Dare I look before turned to dust?
Yes, dear friend, I surely must.

In the midst, a...

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Stop being so downcast!
Stop feeling so blue!
And please, stop caring about how many here like you!
On this planet we have but a short time here.
Don't...

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art inspires me, Van Gogh fascinates me! 
                                 
   ...

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We grasp shadows flow over magenta light
      in the crystal trails of tourmaline
      yes, both...

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Like a beacon on a hill
The white church steeple gleaming still
For all the many years gone past
It marks the path for home at last

Up and...

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I bequeath to you my poems,
For words are all I own--
May the images of snow and fall
Bring you comfort when alone.

And I will leave you...

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It sits back and waits, it lives in your soul.
It slams you and breaks you when you finally feel whole.
It’s been so long since you’ve...

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Take me to the tombstone 
let me touch the gray stone that stands
where life could not
I will put my face to that touchstone of deaf...

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Six steeple towers, cold as steel, drab daggers in the sky!	
Their hallowed halls no longer call when breezes wander by –
for, filled with dread to...

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The bats in the steeple were feeding on people
By sucking the blood splattered wood
That came from the coffin a vampire dropped off in
When he’d drunk...

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I’m one of the  lonely,
the oh so lonely people
missing your subtle smile.
You were a pretty blue eyed beauty,
with unkept hair and go go boot...

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Draped in silent fog, is a reservoir of dreams
weathering each season, with a mystifying scheme  …
On a wind-swept shelf, she is silently sleeping 
Where...

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My father was a musician, with a beautiful tenor voice. As we seven siblings witnessed his coffin being lowered into that cold earth, a blackbird...

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