Long Interlope Poems

She had a shark in her shoe
The doubts they just crash and tolled of pain a cry, I’m insane
Bodies broken just left to lie on the fields of inventing a new past
Relenting misrepresenting align to...

Read More

In Spring there’s friendship that’s lasted through the Winter,
all those cold nights of salted drops and quilts of snow.
The obsidian plague of midnights, melancholic drapes,
but all the while the candlelight of friendship did glow.

you’d think...

Read More

Outside the box there lies some hope,
As those who come in darkness grope,
Upon a broadened path are led,
Unto a cross where Jesus bled,
For hearts to change and learn to cope.

Caught by judgment on downward slope,
Wayward...

Read More

Between Sundays and the week to come,
it’s Thursday wondering where the days have gone.
The flow of tick tocking the passing through,
when the rushing of the important is to pursue.
Days just disappear to wondering grieve,
while nights...

Read More

The yolk simmers
a large golden spread 
far as eye can take

The heat piercing through 
dots the lavish paint
with tiny red wounds 

The ragged yellow-brown
greasy lace curtain
hugs the ashen wall

A child is waiting
the outsides interlope-in
sounds,smells,sweet'n sour

In...

Read More

it is imperative that we do not circumscribe to being thorny
Veritably all will acceed to rising in the morning.
Though melodramatic we must abnegate and repress that static. All the pervading overcast of complicity we must...

Read More

 
Bob Hope,
at birth Leslie Towns, died at one hundred and his life was an interlope;
admired for his comedic timing, facial expressions, and a great one liner,
the "road" movies with his pal Bing- for comedy...

Read More

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

When Winter comes, remember me 
beside you on those ivory sands
If frozen fingers reach for thee, 
arise and fling aside her hands

As you awake on shortening days, 
when Winter comes, remember me 
We'll pray that...

Read More

Spring Sonnet

The microscopic lifeforms in my soil
Sense the rising in degrees Celsius.
Old Summer’s red wiggler worms now uncoil,
While hungry birds look down most odious.

Most showers now done, the weeds envelope
The surviving herbs, flowers, plus veggies.
Like...

Read More

Rigid Mountain

There is a place where all minds go
To the Rigid Mountain range
Of blackened streams
And hopeless dreams
To stop and rearrange

There is a place where thinkers sit
On rigid rocks and broken clocks
Of cedar trees
And willing pleas
As...

Read More

In the subway, a flute player,
at his feet, cents, and dimes.

He is young, skinny,
large peppery Adam’s apple
bobbing,
all sharp elbows and pursed lips,
an old time preacher channeling Bach,
not hell-fire, but more the flame
of creation.

At a distance,
watching...

Read More