by phillipw | Aug 19, 2019 | RA
Emptiness The streets are empty in the morning when The norm is bustling crowds. No one insists On hogging pavement space. The Muslim pen Has seen its gates all closed with Koran fists. There’s no one up, around. Not even school Kids drag their feet along. ...
by phillipw | Aug 19, 2019 | CH, ST
That Sabbath Evening Forget Lot’s wife and cities of the plain. Forget the angel with a living flame Outside the gate of Eden and orange stain Of burning bush in Sin. All those are tame, Lame types of what was yet to come. Inside Another Gate that night I...
by phillipw | Aug 19, 2019 | AE, AN, BE, DI, ES, GR
Contemplation and Adoration He seems contemplative, his shadowed face So meditative that his beauty turns Away from us. He seems to fill more space Than marble ever could. His presence burns Through thousands of male years. The darkness all Around him is defeated. ...
by phillipw | Aug 18, 2019 | RO
Determined Pastel A lavender construction, softly strong When fresh, is held in place now by a vase Of shaft-like shape which makes the short life long — Or stretches it at least. This is because A terror known as death is creeping from Within the rose and so it...
by phillipw | Aug 18, 2019 | LO, WI
I Took Aunt Wilma to Lorena’s Grave Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem I took Aunt Wilma to Lorena’s grave, But first we’d gone to Walmart where she chose A dark gardenia. I became her...
by phillipw | Aug 18, 2019 | ME
As Barbed as Stars As barbed as stars in sharpness in the blacks Of wounded space our memories burn. No green Comes glinting from them. Flashbacks launch attacks In other colors, acrid, not serene. A razor red comes ripping through the dark, No telescopic...
by phillipw | Aug 18, 2019 | WH
Mere Knowing is not Remembering I have one picture of Aunt Ruth way back In Pensacola time. That’s all, except One fragment from her dying days. The black And white snap…that’s it. All the rest is swept Away in blankest loss, except that thing She mouthed...
by phillipw | Aug 18, 2019 | LO, NI, SI, WI
Aunt Wilma Forces Me ..to Plant a Gardenia on Lorena’s Grave Aunt Wilma is second from the left What happens to a voice when it is dead? The vocal cords will rot, of course, the lungs Will shrivel, wither. In a coffin bed The voice will evanesce like...
