Best Streamed Poems

Taken this worn path ,he'd 
taken so many times before
To his one and only true love,
he will always adore

His destination marked Riekers, 
sprinkled with fresh...

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(Spenserian Sonnet) 

A flagrant man is Robert Brown, a swine;
his eyes glow red like ember coals of fire.
Will fate be kind or bring him bitter...

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My
poet’s 
life (not known
then as such) flowed
along life’s swift course
rippling with glee and roaming youth’s chasms.

It then streamed relentlessly to the Now.
I polish agates
left in...

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Sunshine streamed in through 
the windows on a slant.

As she flipped long curly 
red locks off her shoulder.

She took the other road
most often. 

The road...

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Longing in lowly light of longer days
by which a summer wilts paternal dreams
and browns the loitered heaves of yellow spring:

the budding void that stamps an...

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a mass of wires criss-crossed the sky
and hung across the road
as car horns - stuck on 'play repeat'
blared out where tourists strode.

there were happy, smiling...

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He said, “Chick-flicks I do not like.”
As they settled into place.
“I need violence, shoot-up scenes,
And at least one good car chase.”
But he promised to watch...

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The morn's alive with skylarks singing

o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,

the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.

A sudden shower would see...

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Promise
Moon held and made
bathed-beams of love sonnets
dried by sun's own romantic pledge
of streamed warm rays on love's future solace ~
As days then nights honed my...

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There we were -
veiled in the sheer-yet-semi-private aura of morning twilight;
where only outlines can be seen
but where everything is felt in its full strength and...

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Bells summoned as they tolled the sad departure
Of my poor mother’s sudden demise.
I led the short funeral procession
Towards her eternal resting sepulchre.

Before her black ebony...

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I spied a valley low
Across the road from the cemetery
A Columbus monkey swinging by
The trees of the valley
Stood tall and forlorn
Observing the crematorium
Covered in light...

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I remember my father’s hands as a plumber’s hands—fiercely strong, calloused, rough, knuckle-battered, and dirty after a long-day’s work. Those hands shoveled; unclogged drains and...

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A Prayer for my Wife


Now I’ll tell you all the details if I can keep from sheddin’ a tear
Last night when it got late and...

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Once upon a midnight, ghostly,
Partied many, dead ones mostly.
Feasting in the graveyard, sprightly,
White eyed werewolves gorged, engrossedly.

In the bone yard, drab and squalid,
Apparitions (staring stolid
Neath...

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