Hillman Poems - Poems about Hillman

...He is my favorite artist believe it big JOHN BUSCEMA- - He’s my favorite He is my favorite, artist None of you could believe it; He draws women like a dream and… His name is John Buscema<......Read the rest...

...The Snowflake Sit quietly And pretend There's a roaring fire In the fireplace The snow Silently builds Against the north side Of the house. Smell The smoke? Listen To the wind......Read the rest...

...The signs are all around me— skies are suddenly gray-white, and I smell snow is coming, maybe on this very night… ************************ What is this ambiance of awe when viewing those fi......Read the rest...

...Gray soldier-stones now guard my child through seasons lost. There is no sunshine, only rain.......Read the rest...

...It was the first car I owned and the only one It was a small black Hillman bought for one hundred dollars It drove for three weeks on a tank of fuel Never letting me down except when it rained You s......Read the rest...

...Do you hear them, Mom? he asked. I was busy doing a household task, but I stopped to listen seeing sweat on his forehead begin to glisten. The room was quiet, and I’d say, even cool, his lip......Read the rest...

...This year, at the holidays of course, I miss home, surrounded by sand dunes, and Iraqi mosque-domes. But I willingly came to guard against fear— not let terrorist conquer everything I hold d......Read the rest...

...An ol’ cowboy once told me, “Son, keep yor’ Saddle straight— cinched up tight ‘n squared away, an’ don’t depend on fate. For if yor’ a straight shooter, yor’ life will be real tame. A handsha......Read the rest...

...In days of old, when nights grew cold, men told a dreadful tale of Trapper Jim—how they buried him on a night the wolves did wail. It seems at the time, Jim was checking his line, and stopped......Read the rest...

...Age 6….. Passing the mirror, she pulls at her cheeks, sticks out her tongue— blonde ringlets encircle a freckled face. 13….. The mirror beckons— ......Read the rest...

...Where are you? I can’t find you, I cant see you. I call out your name and come to find you. I want to find you in the shed, making Linda’s sledge. Whistling to yourself as you go along. I wa......Read the rest...

...In the year, nineteen an’ thirty-nine, in a small town that seemed not to care, a little girl tried her very best to dress well, and groom her dark hair. She’d fight for her life—whatever it took, a......Read the rest...