Short Jutted Poems

I am the shadow person
leaning against the brittle stone coughed wall
an ember amber
occasionally catching on the jutted edges
of an nearly human face
stumbling from one shadow waterfall
to next
none turn the head
for fear
i am looking back...

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Sherman the snowman wanted a potbelly stove of gray.
He said I want to warm my hands in an igloo today.
His relatives were negative, they tried to discourage him.
But he stood a bit taller, sucked in his gut and jutted out his chin.

He was determined to warm his hands if he could.
Wish he’d change his mind, his mother said, I wish that he would.
But Sherman wanted what he wanted, and he stood by the heat.
And he slowly disappeared, into a puddle so incredibly sweet....

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