by phillipw | Dec 27, 2019 | Ta, VU
Chenille On trips to Georgia mother bought chenille. Swirling counterpanes, curves of peacock tails, Are what come back to me. The ground was “real Bright blue.” She meant enough like neon, trails Of darker cotton fur for spread-tail sweeps...
by phillipw | Dec 27, 2019 | SP
Spenser’s Red Cross Knight The Red Cross Knight was far too much. The dark Spell-casters, monsters, faeries—wotever— He kept avoiding, meeting in the park Of that ridiculous poem, never Found him interesting enough to defeat. The bad guys and bewitchers were the...
by phillipw | Dec 27, 2019 | FR, LO
My Man If I don’t understand my man, much less Do I succeed in comprehending me. It is as if he plays a game of chess In three dimensions; now imagine we Are playing tournaments, but my board has A fourth dimension. That is how I feel About my...
by phillipw | Dec 27, 2019 | FR
That Single Syllable That single syllable, that “friend,” turns out To be a complex concept, fraught, much more A metaphor, an emblem full of doubt, A stumbling figure of speech, a locked door Than some completely open beauty. Not Transparent, even;...
by phillipw | Dec 27, 2019 | LO, RO
Death of Trees (and Love) When broken trunks crack open and fall down Inside your forest, do you hear? Is there A crumbling, crashing sound that makes you frown? Is suffering deafened none of your affair? Perhaps you think there isn’t any noise, No broken...
