“It’s a worm under my fingernail…”

•October 24, 2016 • Leave a Comment

a blind man told me under a dark,

crescent moon, but it wasn’t time,

and it wasn’t enough – it was never

enough – so he lit his pipe and said

he was tired; I poured his wine, a

nasty mixture of red and white; a

drink his grandmother gave to him;

into his crystalline glass, his dull

eyes swept from side to side, more

muttering, more bellowing, I led

his hand to the stem, he lifted the

glass to his lips, cracked and sore

they split, he poured the drink, all

told, down his throat, I waited for his

response, whether it light or dark,

but he did not speak; in all my days,

in the everest of evers and poor laid

plains, I had never seen a man like

this, and I cried the day he died;

one tear that stained my shirt; a night

in Africa, I poured a glass, mixing

white and red wines, and I toasted

the grandeur, wishing he and his

next life safe travels, and with one

lift to my lips, I downed the glass

and shifted my weight so that my

heavy side was no longer my light.

Diamond of Ides

•October 21, 2016 • 2 Comments

The wind blew cold ice in morning,

it was April and I was sixteen, so

angry, so callow; the news bounced

up the stairs from my grandmother,

a voice I won’t forget, and I was

swept afar into made up stories;

years later: a coat of arms burnt

by the sun’s heat; I and he bleeding

and thirsty in the sand, collapsed

together; I know he doesn’t know,

and I’m to going to try sentiment,

but I will carry him with me; eve

comes to pass, nary a far away

moon nor a deep sea fairy shall

cast a stone too far, with my heart

attached, and we will talk again,

even if during a death haze march,

once more into the breach, Dad,

once more and we’ll haul banners

to the Earth’s ends, fueling blood

fountains and castigates with the

fury and fallows of gunpowder

stock and flame pending pounders;

we are unity trapped; forgotten

together and dying together in

a trench at war, so let’s toast to the

gash grandeur, and rush the enemy

while he sleeps; renew life in death,

so you have one more chance,

to live a life you lost for naught,

and I can see your eyes as you smile,

a lit and bright like dreams so sweet.

Brindle and Butterscotch

•October 18, 2016 • 7 Comments

Like a warped signal, a fading blue light,

a knife fight you never got to finish, a

breed of dog no one has seen; I collapse

like a lung, stripped of my paint, sat too

long in the sun, a list of comparisons, a

tragedy on a manuscript, ripped from the

mind of a great writer, doused in wine

and high on song; the walk I was on was

stolid yet beautiful, the leaves gently

left home to the ground, like me and my

ever growing list, and without notice, a

beauty busted me out of slumber, a man

and a dog stood fatly in an alley, and I

chuckled as his hound took aim, my

companion and I continued our journey,

I laughed and suggested we work as one;

minds apart like a stranger traveling, a

turkey dinner in June, a star crossed love

asleep on the couch, madness in a jar,

and no one got the memo; we are enemies.

even though we all live and die the same,

our lives are solitary, a unit of measurement

you never quite grasped, a line in a book

that took you aback, and as my list dwindles,

my life does too; I will always remember

when I tried my hardest, even if a guarded

pathway stood in my sight; the fishing

pole tugs with the slightest tickle, and I want

to be ready to catch the fish, even if my

pockets are empty and my pipe sits still;

life is full of color and music – sit and listen.


Click here if you are interested in reading my chapbooks on Amazon.

Grosso Modo

•October 14, 2016 • 1 Comment

I’m done

with pork

bellies and


a twist in

my drink

and lying

in fat; too

few ever

notice and

I am always

alone, so

I’m taking

my hat and

I’m going

home. Ciao.

Callous and Callow; Moons Aplenty

•October 13, 2016 • Leave a Comment

A cosmic height, six-too-tall-trees,

shrews and goats, toxic reapers,

shells of carapace, truthful beans,

at once, in a free moment, clouds

so big, no more, I shout, no more;


wreaths lain flat, berries and leaf,

I call a farmer from a lone hay bale,

cornfields in a row, glib milk cows,

chicken feet, woe to creation’s hue,

a blue sky above a gray prairie;


for dinner, we fast and drink wine,

sit on a porch, smelly creek water,

laughing at dogs, a practice lost,

simple is contagious, lost on youth,

we’ll weave new sheets, watch;


for fear of no fire, you laugh and

I hold your hair when you puke,

like the first day we left, the saw

blade warped and toothed, we

call to the city lights, blighted;


as farmers of muse, we sing a song

trusted and pure, mincemeat and

curdled cream, a crow landed on

my hat as I stood alone, I am not

a scarecrow, you taught my smile.


For more, check out my chapbooks on Amazon!

Borrowers Caravan

•October 6, 2016 • 3 Comments


I wish I could fly, a gypsy woman lamented,

scored and gored in front of her caravan, she

wept for the loss of her son, her mother, and

most of all herself. In the finality of a death

an ascended sun blew lighted gold abreast, a

true listlessness became darkness among she

and her friends, and as the wine flowed from

cup to cup, the dying woman pretended not to go,

not to bleed, not to worry, just to remain still and

cry. Like a goddess among men, rattled and tan,

her light extinguished like the fires in mourn. Lyrics

and song played throughout the night, but even the

kind joy that is music couldn’t undo the undone;

but that’s not the end for her, the elders would say,

and a grave was dug, deep enough to cover again,

then by snow, then by dirt, then by passing time

and love so sweet. Then, as the speaker in verse

changed, a voice chimed in: I couldn’t bare to see

her suffer anymore, so I helped her find the end.

Knives don’t dull even if used in love; her wish now

a truth, and she flew into the sky, a bird borne anew.

Happy National Poetry Day!

•October 6, 2016 • 1 Comment

To all the poets out there, keep up the great work!

— Shawn