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Anonymous Poetry Poem
As leaves begin to drift around my house
to places they have not yet been, I won-
der what the neighbors think about the fall.
I don’t exactly plan to rake them up.
Copyright © Anonymous Poetry | Year Posted 2016
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Anonymous Poetry Poem
The sunlight
shines through
the clouds
as rain falls
into the gray eyes
of a mother doing
laundry
while her children
play house.
Copyright © Anonymous Poetry | Year Posted 2013
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Anonymous Poetry Poem
I see
reflection
But is it
me
seeing
again
as if
the first time
we hadn't
made love
Or perhaps
we
were
in love
and not
out of
it
Pushing
it
between us
like
strangers
Copyright © Anonymous Poetry | Year Posted 2013
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Anonymous Poetry Poem
White flakes float from
the white sky
and dogs are rough
housing with the kids.
I remember when Dad
confronted the neighbors
after their son had
bloodied my iced nose.
He was white with anger
and I was cold.
As I walk down the
street to the store
the neighborhood kids
are at it again,
living in the snow,
building snow houses.
I remember how the cold
didn't affect my young bones,
but now I'm old, and I
am making dinner tonight.
Copyright © Anonymous Poetry | Year Posted 2013
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Anonymous Poetry Poem
The winter leaves stick to the ground,
Frozen in obscurity, beneath the ice.
As birds begin to sing their songs
I take a sip of coffee.
Covering the solid earth, ice,
As new as the lasting snowstorm
Of every winter, appears fresh
As grass blades and thorns in summer.
Copyright © Anonymous Poetry | Year Posted 2013
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Anonymous Poetry Poem
Whenever I sit
in the rain
and see
streetlights
light the
pavement and
puddles,
the snow piles
from last week
creep to
the drains,
as if to wait
for next year
in hibernation,
I think about
what's guarenteed
tomorrow,
and I laugh
at history's repetition
'First tragedy,
then farce.'
And I feel the
unrelenting sun
from the summer
relent
as I exhale.
Copyright © Anonymous Poetry | Year Posted 2013
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Anonymous Poetry Poem
Woke up and read
“On My Father’s Life”
by Raymond Carver.
Thought about Kentucky
and Dad with his shirt off,
sweating in a chilly morning
of March, digging
for a fence post.
The poor bastard,
to share a name
and lose a photograph.
It's seems like I've
lost something too.
My father isn’t dead
to space, but it’s been years.
And to share a name,
after all this time.
It's all he has share.
Copyright © Anonymous Poetry | Year Posted 2014
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Anonymous Poetry Poem
a black line
stretches
thin over
yellow paper
It's musty
and it's summer.
Copyright © Anonymous Poetry | Year Posted 2013
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