Short Indent Poems

I know what a poem
looks like.

I know how to make
my prose look like verse.

A little tuck here,
an indent there,

et voila! It’s verse! 
or worse ...

a pale imitation of seem.
(can I have some ice cream?)...

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FIRST FALL  SNOW

Frigid winds 
Indent the once silken
Radiance of a bygone,
Sun struck summer
Terrain .  It’s
Fall, and
All that 
Lingers is
Lightly coated with
Snow, a
Now troubling harbinger
Of surely approaching
Winter...

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Snow on the ground
Of a beautiful heu
A pure inviting colour
Of not white but blue

A very light blue
Pail and bright
Turning darker
During the night

Shadowy patches
Inside each indent
A place for many winter hours
To be pleasantly spent...

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Forget To Indent

Many poems wrote and may have meant
Along with email messages I have sent
And on occasion a few letters wrote
Around my computer sometimes tote
But as usual did forget to indent.

Do they still do indentation
Without a further explanation.

Jim Horn...

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I was heaven sent
and then cast below the dirt and cement
the clouds not even precipitating an indent
the rightful owner is now in possession of the diamond crown
the fairies dance around' singing enchanting melodies that melt us like ecstasy to the ground tickling out tongue 
vessel 
exploding under the lust muscle...

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I look to the couch where he used to sit
There is an empty place there
No one else would fill it
There was his lair
His indent
Prayer
                      Prayer is the answer	
Prayer
Frees me
When I let it all go
Tell God whatever my plea
How much I have to give and grow
I know that He will answer me and agree...

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You say you are a
Saint. Your reign
Is of no indent. We 
Must wrest 
Out our mindless doubt. Your 
Tenet is 
Without debt. YES, 
That was just at the 
Start.  No one 
You called stupid
As you ought 
Not do so even now. But 
How do we 
Reject this doubt
With your floret withered;
When you 
Now break our reedy necks
Not our plummet?...

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Restless river winds.
       winnowing valley farmland.

       In Father's garden chickens squawk, squabble.
       Silver sunlight dances.

       Hens spurn gardens bounty,
       for girl in dusty pants,
       rattling evenings grain bowl.
       Prancing single file behind
       fowl feet indent narrow path.

       Wind rustles treetops....

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I awake late in the night, fearing the early morning light, I look over the empty bed 
and see, the indent of what once was, but shall never again be. I brush away a 
single tear, I ask myself, is it the loneliness or the fear?... I try to rise only to fall, it 
no longer matters, nothing at all. My once shining eyes have now grown dull, the 
empty bed... nothing matters... nothing at all......

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If i exist
I would write of tears
that pulled down walls
Of love in seconds glance
Of new born parents
with matching gloop stains
Of darkness that swims between
the blood and skin
Of strutted sex
that smoulders ember ambers
Of blades of grass
that twirl balletic
in moistening summer wind
______________I
Between Good aNd Evil
on the n
I stand
If i exist
i lie wi in th the space
where ink touches paper
Where key finger indent begs fullfilment
in bluened night...

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Too frequent conversation
compels dull drum patterns.

O' for refreshment.

The doll faced muse
in pale ivory still frame
summons me.

Great, sultry mistress,
I want your rolling thunder breasts
on top of my own;
nipples so hard they indent the skin.
I want your breath
like from the mouth of a buzzed angel
to be breathed into mine.

I want to discover,
to be engulfed by
your warmth.

Lay back, my seductress.
Part your smooth, unsteady gates.
Reveal to me
your paradise....

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