Suppose disintegrating into the soil is the best next place to be, surrounded by dirt and its worms chomping through. It's more there to me than it is to a student of suits. Yet in an encompassed environment, stemming wood from its fruit, we go laughing and brimming all cute. Still disguise yourself, child. The … Continue reading I Am a Patchwork Quilt
Tag: New York poetry
1. Interestingly, as the year begins to turn over, and winter is beginning its five-month grip on the weather, I am in no more trouble than I could be. My mood is beginning to waiver, yes-- I have to better watch my temperament. My shoulders ache, hunched against the wind cold and biting. My hands … Continue reading Balderdash
Oh, with fantastic shivers, run Beside a candle dripping upon The table 'neath the shelf above A chair you sit, too dear It's backward, yet sincere And for the forgotten, it's been said There's nothing more to distinguish in it A portion of reconciled air Of putrid soil and debonair Stares You whittle off a … Continue reading To Havens Racked
I am an old piano Born in Manhattan. And with barely 70 keys, I still sit grand But not a Grand Piano. I'm ornate, it's true, And one-of-a-kind. A gift for a wealthy child at first But he never played me. I just sat in the corner of his room and looked pretty. Over the … Continue reading 1858 Steinway Square Piano
This door keeps out the sounds of the hallway. This door can hear every word uttered here. This door demands our attention when slammed. This door swings on its hinges, rusted. This door's in tune with the walls at its sides This door speaks not, but listens carefully. This door relies on its framing, unsplintered. … Continue reading This Door
