Small Words

There are but small words, 

They linger like crickets 

Creaking after sundown,

Or worms 

Slow writhing on a sidewalk

Upon a summer storm.

Under a crimson sky,

Small cottages project an abstract negligence.

Like a derelict castle in Byzantium,

They reek of solitude.

Sylvia

Sylvia Plath

Be good to her,

Always,

Yet love was brutal in its giving.

Sun flashed on the sinking boat

The ocean was a vast page

Blue with white-ink foam.

Speak no words for Sylvia

She wanders down city streets,

Lost among the fields

Searching scattered flowers for her home.

Her coral bones, pearls as eyes,

Outstretched arms

Hands that reach to empty skies.

Red Pen Letter

Red pen letter,

Cardigan sweater,

Half-life living

Little or no control,

Soul of Kurt Cobain.

Rebel and poet,

Where did you go?

Go ask them, ask them!

But they don't know

Except perhaps,

That man who sold the world.

Red pen letter,

Cardigan sweater,

Roamed for years in distant lands,

Searching for what some call home.

We don't like humans,

But love them anyway.

Kurt Cobain,

Heart of sadness

Smashed against a stone.

Girl with bird

Quick chalk piece. Why? Who? What?  

I don't know!

Roughly modeled after my daughter Emma... Lol

Revel the swan... Ride the waves solo.

Oh yeah.

Happy Thanksgiving...

Something Small

The sun shone brightly,

Sky was beautiful.

On my way home from school

Something small,

Usually busy, was still.

My looming shadow touched it,

Then my sight.

A small bird without eyes,

Red stripe on his head

Silent little bill.

Somehow,

Simply,

It was not right.

The sun shone brightly,

Sky was beautiful.

All birds fall,

Yet still,

For me,

This was not right.