#AmericanWriters
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
The night has been long, The wound has been deep, The pit has been dark, And the walls have been steep. Under a dead blue sky on a distant…
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,
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
We wear the mask that grins and li… It shades our cheeks and hides our… This debt we pay to human guile With torn and bleeding hearts… We smile and mouth the myriad subt…
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
When I was young, I used to Watch behind the curtains As men walked up and down the stre… Young men sharp as mustard. See them. Men are always
There is no warning rattle at the… nor heavy feet to stomp the foyer… Safe in the dark prison, I know t… light slides over the fingered work of a toothless
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
The highway is full of big cars going nowhere fast And folks is smoking anything that… Some people wrap their lies around… And you sit wondering
When love is a shimmering curtain Before a door of chance That leads to a world in question Wherein the macabrous dance Of bones that rattle in silence