Category: Writing
-
Artificial Sonnets
IV. The poet wore a smile, broad, smug and warm,Took praise from everyone who offered it.He thought: “I am a sage of my art form!And now I’ll just sit back and take credit.”He burst into his office in this mood,The grin still wide upon his haughty face,To find two people talking there – how rude!Who…
-
Spiritual Activism (for Frederick Buechner)
We know what we should be doing with our lives:meeting the world’s deep hunger with our own, as we nourish the soul, with all its tribulationsand desires, and stand like a rock on principles. When we get off the hurtling merry-go-round, we discover the everyday rhythms of living: remembering how to breathe, to integrate body…
-
Jason’s Daddy
The sun was just beginning to push through the clouds that draped over the Greyhound Bus Terminal on the corner of Mission and First in Downtown Los. Angeles when the six o’clock bus screeched to a halt. It was nearly half an hour late when it pulled into Gate 2, and the line of passengers…
-
Artificial Sonnets
III. The poet stared at the blank screen and sighed:Procrastination is my only skill.His office – sparse, clean, pale – made him feel ill.Employment seemed to eat at his inside.He didn’t know what fate may yet befall himBut knew he must deliver on the hype,So reached out to the keyboard set before him,Stretched out his…
-
Pi Mysterium
… and the Mathematician Who Made Me Believe “It simply goes on forever.”I am not convinced.Wary of things immeasurable,Such as love, infinity,Creator, existence. Suppose you divideForever by four,Now, forever is a fraction;Leaping, and then divingToward no definitive action. And, what did Stonehenge know of greek? – Her transcendental rock, mineral-stackedIn sly mockery,Asking that we compareHoly…
-
Counting Expectations
Her floral hands weptwhile holding the stillborntheir only chanceand the fatherwith his whiskeybreathsitting in the smokehe madewhile staring at the wallpaying no attentionto her wailsto her achesto her painhe just drank Featured Download: If you would like a resource to help you write poetry like this, CLICK HERE.
-
Artificial Sonnets
II. “A poet. You’re the first I’ve interviewed,”The woman said behind her shiny desk.“You show a certain zealous attitude,And your approach is novel, I confess.They value that in this place, so maybeYou could outline any experienceYou feel would make the promised differenceYou like to claim.” She gestured to him. “Please.” The poet coughed into his…
-
Sounds of Cotton
Mornings are roughwhen throwing up panicand beating myself down with whatever is closest and as alwaysit’s usually me Featured Download: If you would like a resource to help you write poetry like this, CLICK HERE.
-
Every House
A plastic box for the local paperIs drilled into some rendition Of a post near every mailbox. There are traits made visibleFrom the underbelly Of each installation.Like a new graphologyTo determine from varying Degrees of crude angles, Stripped screw heads And nails left in that bent. Cultural drift, I suppose. Featured Download: If you would…
-
Artificial Sonnets
I. The poet needed badly to make money.It was a common problem, to be sure;His education lacked – to put it bluntly – Any skills that could stop him being poor.He found a list of fastest growing sectors,Summoned his meagre business acumen,He searched addresses for boards of directors.He sat, he wept, he prayed. He grabbed…
-
Fudge Bowl
Father Peregrine’s musingsfrom that Martian midlandmoved me. How often I wallowin mindin wordin deed. Helpless in my disgust. Yet, when I call out,He scoops me;my mindmy wordmy deed. Alas! I was not made forthe fudge bowl. Featured Download: If you would like a resource to help you write poetry like this, CLICK HERE.
