Posting these literary poems where people can enjoy them pleases me. Even poems that have landed in books, magazines, or anthologies will find a wider audience here, while poems used to the quiet solitude of my desk drawer will get to see the light of day and meet readers like you! (Art fans: Look for literary poems inspired by the work of well-known photographers and painters.) Please request permission by email, including full copyright information on each copy made. For internet use, a link back to this website is required.
FINDING THE POEM YOU WANT: As you scroll through this section, simply read each snippet sample (usually the first four lines) to get a feel for the poem. When you find something you like, click “CONTINUE READING” to view the entire poem.
Small white crosses dot green grasses,
children who will play no more.
Bright-eyed boys and lively lasses,
robbed of all life held in store.
My do-it-yourselfish man
sealed up the tile, after
installers grouted pits.
image by Olga Tutunaru on UnsplashI am the unwieldy book
you would rather not read
that opened up well but then
took a late turn for the worse.
And now, duty bound, you cannot
simply put me down firmly.
Compelled, you must finish your start,
every chapter and verse.
oh, that this sight were never found
a grieving mother, brought to ground
bereft of hope, forever bound
she falls to earth without a sound
∞§∞
For more poems about grief and loss, click here. If this poem in particular resonates with you, you might also relate to The Heart Attack.
What is your move
the day you realize
no matter what goes down,
worse things can smite you?
city beat
city heat
miles of pavement
pulsing feet
image by Natalie Heathcoat on UnsplashYou say I’m “always right.” Go get the rope!
Slap me in chains and throw away the key.
Charge me with leading you too forcefully,
your mind impelled up my unyielding slope
(not even time to scan your horoscope),
bowled over by the power that is me.
How rather omnipotent I must be
to move another so, against his will
and quite without design, perfect the skill
of bringing forth blameless impotency.
However do I do it? All must bow
in deference to the mighty sword I wield.
And yet, one question, if you will allow…
Are you excused? Did you not choose to yield?
His cat was dead.
Ours was a garden party,
ranunculus in every color
no relief for
fur-brushed blood
against a bleached
white t-shirt.