December 0

Blog Archive

Thu, 24.09.2009


The usual is there,
nondescript trees opened like umbrellas,
pessimist always expecting rain,
chickadees whose folding and unfolding wings
suggest the shuffling and reshuffling
of the cardsharp’s deck;
nothing noteworthy except the beginning saxophonist

blowing with the efficacy of wolves addicted to pigs,
blowing down those poorly built houses,
the leaves off the trees, the water in
another direction, the ace of spades
into the ground with the cardsharp’s bad intentions.
The discord and stridency set off landslides
and avalanches; his playing moves the earth
not lo

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New Poem Each Day

Poetry Corner

Precious Lord, take my hand, Lead me on, let me stand, I am tired, I am weak, I am worn. Through the storm, through the night Lead me on to the... TAKE MY HAND PRECIOUS LORD by Thomas A. Dorsey.
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