by phillipw | Oct 3, 2019 | BL, PH
No Volcanoes of Bleak Lava Anywhere No single thing pours darkness into space, Not one. All bodies give off heat or light, Or store, absorb them, never spray a mace Of blackness whether they are specks in flight Around a nucleus or clustered group Of galaxies around...
by phillipw | Oct 3, 2019 | AD
Ady, Endre Ermindszent’s Parnassian Poet in Paris The light falls down athwart his hair in gloss And splay of lyric brilliance. Yes cascades. These streaks of glory are tight heaven’s loss, The loss celestial heights’ desires. Shine fades But only...
by phillipw | Oct 3, 2019 | AR
The Creator Loses He slaps down blood and brains and soul in art. He thinks that politics is none of these. When politics intrudes, the poet’s heart Becomes a platform made of callused pleas Instead of purity. He captures bark Destroyed, and slaughtered oaks,...
by phillipw | Oct 3, 2019 | SH
Prophecy from Solar Surfaces A shadow is a message from the realm Of light. Wherever suns are banished, dark Imposes silence for the eyes. An elm With blackbirds’ wings within it in a park Is useless to convey the patterns leaves And feathers might spread out along...
by phillipw | Oct 3, 2019 | OB
Sci-Fi Horror He hulks apart, his relatives across The aisle as if he doesn’t want them to Be recognized as his, as though they’re dross. He reads a monstrous DUNE book, sci-fi brew Of threat, adventure, and a plot that’s made Of characters...
by phillipw | Oct 2, 2019 | AU, LO
Bright Month Epiphany The light fell on the green, or rather greens Of leaves inside the autumn air of street And garden there among the city scenes, Kaleidoscopic in September suite Of urban beauty and variety. The trees of Kensington spread out their arms To...
by phillipw | Oct 2, 2019 | LO
Awe They think that moons were made for darker tones Of shadow than the sun can make, these men Who don’t believe in love. They haunt those zones Beyond affection and devotion, then Conclude that love is non-existent red, A scarlet or a crimson...
by phillipw | Oct 2, 2019 | RI
Abortion on an Attic Floor “Some kill their love when they are young” The flailing Arthur slumps against the wall. He doesn’t have his lover. There’s no sex. He thinks his poetry is in free fall. Inside his chest and soul Rimbaud suspects It’s finished. (He...
