Words Gone Wrong
My Medium portfolio of poetry
A sample of my poems available on Medium.
- Science Fiction:
There are things that passion doesn’t know,
things passion can never tell us
except that our loins grow
together with the rising of…
- The Science of Attraction
We can reduce the science of attraction to four laws:
1. The force of attraction can be strong or weak.
- Reflections during a moment of solitude
alone on table
wine stained cloth
like dried blood…
- Viewing Easy Rider
In the end,
Just before Dennis Hopper shot the bird at two
Shit faced rednecks who shot back with both barrels…
- Melancholy: with apologies to Yeats
One had the blue jay’s voice
And two or three had the charm of
Porcelain figures that pee
When you drop the coin.
- Black Soul:
Eb slammed the door, shook our house
from wall to frame. My China
plate fell. Shattered like the
hard shards of his black coal heart.
When you build
walls on borders
you think you locked them out…
In the spring of passion,
on the springs of our beds
we fucked away our future in
thoughtless careless love.
- The Sexual Dynamics of Underpants: with apologies to Lawrence Ferlinghetti
In fifth grade, Johnny Burnett glanced
up Susie Holden’s underpants and shouted,
- That first kiss, when I focus only on you: That moment, as certain as truth, that we wish to preserve
This kiss, like fruit, will decay;
like truth until words intervene,
- An open letter from Pocahontas to Persecutor #45:
Do you, with Jackson’s portrait hanging over your head,
do you expect to channel his warrior spirit, and
scrub brown skins from this stolen… (with video)
- The Murder of Jessie Hague: A noir tale in verse (with video)
as I fall
- Love Isn’t Roses:
Love isn’t roses
flowery cards with rhymes
printed in Kansas City, Missouri…
- Broken Promises of Spring:
Spring teases. Verdant pastures
wither beneath blistering summer sun.
- Sand. Surf. Scent… a Triptych
Svengali? Never heard of him. For David she’d kick off her pumps, cook casseroles and carry children. She’d study 50 Shades like scripture, crawl naked on the floor, cudgel clamped in teeth, wax his shoes with her tongue. His name rolls across her tongue. Dah-veed. Blonde, Israeli, two-point-two percent body fat, thighs like oaks, biceps cut from concrete. A voice as deep as thunder from the horizon.
Through her open window
scented summer breezes drift.
I planted my son’s first kiss
on his forehead in my wife’s
room which she shared with
a chain-smoking waitress
who rattled off tale after… (with audio)