Tag Archives: Free Verse

The Hunt

Some yearn for sugar-spritzed marshmallows
So bright they seem ready to spring,
To caper and cavort across the plastic grass
Until, headless, they fall – or rise again,
Joined by dismembered cohorts of chocolate,
The wish of other hungry souls along with
Eggs and chicks – all the same rich confection.
Among them eggs that bleed rich cream,
Bought in handfuls and consumed to a coma
While the hunt continues through the yard
With rewards of bright-colored plastic (empty)
Or worse, a discarded craft project,
That holds only food – no candy or coins –
Unless, wait, yes, it could (oh please)
Contain a chorus of glitter awaiting its prey.
The shower of sparkles, the laughter, the chase and (eventually)
To sleep with a chocolate-smeared smile on your face.

Fain to Fade

Do they walk?
Why would they walk?
These faded shades of legs,
Long crumbled, hidden away.
Is it memory?
Some distant longing
For what once was –
Before it wasn’t.
Is that why they stay?
That need to see – to be?
To walk, to sing, to hold, to touch –
Are those the draw that,
All unseen, hold them
Where they cannot be
But must remain –
A dream, now dust:
Fate fain to fade.

Dream While You Can

Dream while you can
Til it fades in the dawn:
The dawn of marriage,
The dawn of kids,
The uncountable dawns
Of the life that you live –
Look! There! Can you see
Responsibilities break
Through the clouds
Of dreams left behind:
Ambiguous, undefined, hidden
In the depths of your mind –
Taken over by dreams
Taken over in kind.


Accident or
Unforeseen consequence?
A difference of words
Or a difference of intent:
The truth of your awareness
Or the truth of what you meant?

Held Apart

Held apart,
It struggles to reach,
To swim through the fog.
It casts out its message,
Word after word flung away
As it tries, somehow, some way, to reach –
They fragment and fall
Some reaching but merging,
Changing the message
To unordered nonsense,
The true messages barred
By the unbending barrier.

Like a Grumpy Child

Dawn peeks through the clear air
Like a grumpy child from under heated covers.
The pinks and golds give the sky a false warmth,
Concealing the harsh, bitter cold
That strikes at the slightest opening,
Putting all within its reach –
Hands, feet, and nose –
To sleep as though waking
Is the Enemy.

Wait for It

If it doesn’t matter at all.
Or if it’s all that matters.

If you really can’t stand it.
Or if you can’t stand without it.

But if it does
And it’s not
Or you can – either way –
Then, simply put,

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