Too much water:
Old sandbox--
the castle's kingdom
spread thin.
A cup of bathwater beside
a neat, unopened bag:
Smoking by the pool--
the geese take over
the water.
Steeped too long:
The lonely man prays
until the single women
have all gone home.
Bad water:
Through the smog,
a rippling orange
sunset.
I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
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2006
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March
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- Safe from the Storm
- On Learning of the Evolution/Creationism Debate Ta...
- The Hawk
- Bad Tea
- Sexual Frustration
- Inspiration
- Apology to My Daughter
- Fragile
- Hunger
- Leaving the Woods Behind
- Coming Down (As requested by Aurora)
- This is not a poem (2)
- Evidence
- The Cello Player
- Turning Point
- Elegy for the Dragon
- A Mystery
- Aging
- Packing for the Hike
- Vigilance
- Seven Cups of Pu-erh, Gong Fu Style
- Defending
- Marketing Death
- A Father Reads the Parenting Websites
- Breakfast
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March
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1 comment:
Sounds like hope in the end. Excellent poem!
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