Short Deadest Poems

Lost all feeling, nothing left
Words lost on mindless thought
Daylight darkens the light
No sound but the deadest thumping in my head
All beauty torn assunder
Lost with no goal to reach
No glimmer, no hope
My soul has died within
And left me on my own...

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The finer you draw your measurements,
the further away you fall

Each number squared and time compared,
deafens out the call

Your techno-dialectic,
data piled upon itself

A trash heap at the deadest end
—where folly stacks unfelt

(Haverford Pennsylvania: July, 2019)...

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Who is the deadest 

Now that Israel has published horrific pictures 
of slain children this as an explanation of why they 
so cruelly bomb Gaza
where about 500 children have been victims 
of relentless bombing
one hopes the Palestinians will refrain from publishing pictures of their dead children like it should be a competition
My child is more horrifically dead than yours...

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I love the Scottish nights
Where the cold nuzzles
face and soul
Not silence in its deadest form
But in murmuring demise
An an an echoed lovers small talk
A revving engine rainbows overhead
An breath hangs in cold cut
A mist mirror that uncovers
ethereal truth
Soft the night
blur the light
I love the Scottish nights
Soft the nights
blur the lights
I love the Scottish night...

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I cried when my brothers died
When my heart was broken
and when i broke another's
not a good man
but a bad one trying
Trying to outrun uncatchable mistakes
Cried in the deadest morn
and night
when darkest shadows act as flares
Not concise but shortened
Shortened names joined by the i do
And the first time sight of newly born eyes
I have cried
without her
without her
i
will
never stop...

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Dead, dying, deadest
All security is broken.
 
Warm sand wrapped in seaweed
Your smiling face
Goose bumps in hard, playful waves, washed by
Laughing foam, watched by a
Dancing sun
 
Drips of ice cream trickled down sandy arms
As flip-flopped feet swerve Shelob
Sleeping in her glittering lair,
Sung to sleep by the lullaby of semi, mosquitoes, traffic, and waves.
 
Slap, slap, roar.
Slap, slap, roar.
Slap, slap…
 
ROAR.
 
Silence....

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The door doesn't shut
The windows don't open,
But, give it some time
Some wishin' and hopin'

Creaking floorboards 
And the coldest drafts,
Occupy these rooms
With echoes of laughs

Only a house rundown
Is what the eye sees,
Yet, the deadest place
Is alive with memories 

The lady in the cellar
The man in the attic,
Shrieking and calling 
And stomping erratic 

Below a leaky roof
My feet still roam,
No, it ain't much ...
But, still it's home.


...

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