Long Carvers Poems

Would the real “Matthew Scott Harris” please stand up!

Yo...over here in Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
all the other ones (that follow below)...
them guys imposters I write – every ƒµ©**** one.

Curiosity and discretion 
got the better part of me...

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Upon bitterly cold dawning hours of one January 2000 day
the Harns family desperately sought a place to live – “hay
there” Nelson Swartley (an independent realtor) 
politely responded bringing unwelcome news viz our sos re lay
informing...

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MYSTERIOUS HABITATS


Wonderful is the monument Tajmahal
It buries mysterious human track mole
It bears the memory of a love that compelled
To activate many to shed blood in sweat
It casts the reminiscence of a love forced
To shed blood...

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If you have a dragon, a great furnace he makes.
belching his fire can heat your entire place.
But, there is one problem, non initially foreseen;
you see dragons, like people, have their own dreams.

We’ve hired a new...

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There was a time so carefree we were.
Time we had more than enough!
A blue sky meant a sunny day.
Our eyes with merry would dance 
Thinking of another day in a cave;
A fascinating world compared 
To...

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A Sitka Sunset

Mute wind chimes on the Totem Trail
 Ring through purple mists in
Platinum testimony to evergreens adorned in dusk
And leftovers from raindrops splashing from totem beaks,
Cedar poles rise from dense fogs
Of myths and warriors...

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CHOP SHOP

The Villages at Carver ate
Four tires and a steering wheel
Their hunger pangs would not abate
So they acquired plans to steal
 A screwdriver
And a wrench too
A steel hammer
Golf carts unscrew
The Villages at Carver hide
Its many...

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Skeletal garden stalks rattle, shivering,
long leaved arms rustle in the wind,
bony fingers snap in rhythm 
to October’s haunting song;
they gather as shadowy hillside wraiths,
spectral companions for Ichabod Crane.

Summer shudders,
scattering abundant harvest corn,
thick as hoar frost,...

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A thousand fair suitors all stab at your heart, 
those poets of movement and jockeys of art. 
The high-volume vendors who hustle romance, 
splashing their canvas with color and dance. 

The blasters of trumpets, gold...

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To make his jack-o-lantern,
My husband wields a knife
And carves a slightly scary face
To make it come to life.

It isn’t sketched or plotted;
Just some time is all he needs
And before he’s even finished,
I have roasted all...

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Thanks to the poets who love my words
Meaning in their eggs fly like birds
The snake may suckle slurping in delight
But give them time to be feathered by light

We brotherhood carvers in the tongue
Let your muse...

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