Best Transplanted Poems

Wondrous poems are melodies
Emancipated from live trees
Freed at last from trunk and limb
Freed at last to sing their hymn
Transplanted in the hearts they've torn
Transplanted by...

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hanging in the air
humidity’s heaviness . . .
the river’s slow crawl


On the Mississippi lies the beautiful little city where I once lived. How many times...

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Beyond The Open Door

She stretches her arms across your abyss,
so that she can covertly open your door.
She cries as she peeks into your eyes,
for you...

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The humid air sweats streaming curls down the toddler’s flush cheeks like Fusilli hot from the stove. The golden ringlets cling to her forehead, bouncing...

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CITY GEOMETRY

I’m on big town
Inserted
Yea, transplanted
Within its swaying wave
Of box and angle

Where my self-identity
Is something throbbing
Upward gazing
Arrowing
To sky points

So, it’s confusing
The hate-love factor
Stiffness
Restriction
Formal sharpness of...

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I am an Outlander
Who lives on a high hill
Overlooking a man-made lake
That once was a rapidly rushing river
Along whose banks the Ozarks Bluff Dwellers and...

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G race abounds
R ighteousness astounds
A cceptance granted
C ost  transplanted
E ternally saved ...

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In the garden of poems percieved,
my dreams are plucked from ideals.
Placed on the pages of creative seeds,
where friends meet to read and spiel.

Watered images grown...

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The curse of an
inflated imagination.
An escarpment of thought
in a blistering mind.

An invasion of insolence
amidst a tempest-tossed
cacophony
of mewling memories.

A throat restricting,
heart galloping,
and eyes trembling.
A voiceless scream...

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When death came, I declared that I could not leave soon
For I had not seen the summer flowers in bloom

Starting them from just a seed...

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I walked out to see my garden's beauty
Looking for vibrant colors to see
But before I could look he was all over me
Stung fourteen times by...

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Looking In



May I lean on the cold glass now
and look into a world stolen from me
condensing words to cold brittle panes
obscuring my likeness

I am no...

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I have always liked the hollow dark,
the cave, the sealed carcass of the night,
the lightless womb of the closed seed.

You said you were human,
and I...

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The hillsides are covered
with miles of Scotch Broom.
Pretty to see
but an allergy doom.

This transplanted weed
should not be here.
It causes allergy symptoms
most of which are severe.

Some...

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My 60’s

My 60’s
meant childhood.
Unaware of changing mores
or real significance of
Kennedy’s assassination,
three sisters
and I 
were transplanted
to Mom’s childhood Iowa farm until
she remarried. Though poor, we had
good...

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