Posts about Poetry

First published in Chantwood Magazine, Fall 2017

Our faces fit together
Like continents.
Especially when I take my glasses off.

Slowly,
The plates drift,
And the earth quakes.

First published in Chantwood Magazine, Fall 2017

My legs wide
I hold the guitar close there like
Trying to merge two bodies and
When I play it I can
Feel the tremors in
my stomach I can
Feel it in my jaw

Dark wooden
Curved it always seemed to me
Mysterious like a piece of occult
Furniture as if
Standing at your dresser
Opening and closing
Drawers could be a way
Of making peace
With the universe

And then there’s
An etude where my fingers nothing works
Buzzing like a silent conversation
In a noisy bar it’s
Muted like a kiss
Where your teeth
Are clanking and
I pluck the wrong
String like an
Unwelcome touch

But when I finally
Play that measure right
This sounds dumb but I
Cry a little I
Don’t try it’s just I
Pull sounds from the guitar and it pulls back on me
A little like the moon passing quiet over the sea

First published in Straight Forward Poetry Journal, Spring 2014

1

in parks
on the sidewalk
especially on benches
in cars at stoplights
and the movie theater
on the metro
and the bus
in the stadium
at mcdonalds
supermarkets
the post office
and banks

all the places
ive seen people
making out

2

everyones
always talking
about this
fast paced life
how theres so much to do
and how theres so little time
but
if
you
stop
for a second and
feel
the sunlight
listen
to the birds and
watch
the wind blow
youll see that things actually

lilt

quite manageably
and theres
all
the time
in the world

3

so your dog poops
and you try to do the right thing
by cleaning it up
but
it smears
and gets all over
leaving a much bigger mess

and thats how things are
sometimes

First published in Fwd: Museums, Summer 2017

I put the world in a box,
A box an inch or two around.
Inside I put the people
And the rivers and the towns.

I look into this box
When I feel the need
To see the things I’d like to see
And the things I’ve seen.

I set the box back on the shelf
Then I replace its lid.
And I can’t help myself but wonder
What sort of box I’m in.