#AmericanWriters
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke… Stranglers to our outstretched nec… Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know that
Beloveds, now we know that we know… Without notice, our dear love can… In the instant that Michael is go… Though we are many, each of us is… Only when we confess our confusion…
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
Pretty women wonder where my secre… I’m not cute or built to suit a fa… But when I start to tell them, They think I’m telling lies. I say,
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you?
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud
You drink a bitter draught. I sip the tears your eyes fight to… A cup of lees, of henbane steeped… Your breast is hot, Your anger black and cold,