by phillipw | Nov 5, 2019 | VI
Grotesquerie: The Virgin of the Musée Cluny She meditates there, still, on her harsh stone plinth, Her bug eyes suffering from thyroid disease Above this theophany to the nth Degree. The little doll-like effigies Revealed by golden doors which form her...
by phillipw | Nov 5, 2019 | EX
Unseen Poetry “The dismal poetry findings stand in sharp contrast not only to the rise in general fiction reading, but also to the efforts of the country’s many poetry-advocacy organizations, which for the past dozen years have been creating...
by phillipw | Nov 5, 2019 | DR
Out of Our Minds in Our Minds I disapprove the dreams I have in bed. I can’t control them. They are like a drug Injected in my brain. They’re colored dread And silliness all tangled in a fug. I cannot like my daydreams. They are far Too stupid, colored happiness...
by phillipw | Nov 5, 2019 | GA
Contradiction in Free Sperms Now why should marriage be the thing that nabs Top billing? It’s a mere pact written out In lace and flowers. Frilled legality grabs The spotlight. Doubtlessly there’ll be a pout Among the drama queens upstaged, the mums And dads who...
by phillipw | Nov 5, 2019 | CH, ST
The Missed Lightning Rod I used to look up at that redwood tree Each time I passed it and it made me think Of you. It loomed there like a tall decree That I remember Charles, a giant link Between us two. I never crossed the road To smell it or to feel its...
by phillipw | Nov 5, 2019 | CH, ST
Love. Love? …………………………..“Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds” My grief for you began before God killed You, long before you died. I grieved for you When you went off...
by phillipw | Nov 5, 2019 | CH, ST
Chuck’s Acer Bursts to Final Oxblood Life So bare all winter, now the little tree Is bursting out towards rich red truth. The leaves Evince a burgundy of promise, free Of lack. Though still too pale each one perceives Its destiny more clearly than...
by phillipw | Nov 5, 2019 | SE
Chanting for the Real You “en las Mañanitas” I want to serenade you in dark hours Before the dawn. Our little town will be The place of love, the place of songs and powers Of poetry. My lungs will make the plea Because my heart is paralyzed...
