by phillipw | Dec 27, 2019 | AU
Morning After Rains They plant their roots for firmness in the earth. They do not think of death but plan for pods And seeds. Their blueprints are for birth. They have a strong disdain for lightning rods, For what is living for except for heights? They...
by phillipw | Dec 27, 2019 | NI
Helen and Cousin David Can you recall when “party” didn’t mean Cocaine and booze and sex? When what it meant Was frilly frocks, and hitting red and green Piñatas with giddy sticks, when kids bent Near double, giggle-screaming, over “pin The tail”? Can you...
by phillipw | Dec 27, 2019 | AR, PA, RI, VE
Sex, Drugs, and Roses It seems at least a possibility That spoiled, soiled brats might just have feelings, too. They’d have the usual ones, hostility And sulking, and that adolescent brew Of self-regard, fragility, and rage. But maybe Rimbaud had...
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...
