Some Old Poems |
Wildfire on my mother's last day her flush face brush fire caught from strike lightning pneumonia raged through thick stock trunks of lungs into ash white limbs wait wait waiting...
Posted by H.C Mike on Wed, 30 Jan 2008 12:19:00 PST |
High Life |
This isn't going to be easy but imagine yourself in a room filled with people. Now imagine that these people are just like you: Young, casually over-dressed, and discontented with the...
Posted by H.C Mike on Thu, 18 Oct 2007 07:42:00 PST |
Boy, Girl, Grocery Store (Complete) |
{Note: This is simply a page from my journal, which isn't so much a journal in the sense that it is true or in any way an accurate portrayal of me. In fact, it is b...
Posted by H.C Mike on Wed, 17 Oct 2007 01:35:00 PST |
To You: |
Sometimes I dream about the day I die. I dream about the weather. Will the sun blaze in my eyes on my last day on earth? Or will the rain wash away my grief, and sorrow, and regret? Will the silent fl...
Posted by H.C Mike on Tue, 04 Sep 2007 12:14:00 PST |
This Window is a Portrait Hung in a Second-hand Frame. |
This Window is a Portrait Hung in a Second-hand Frame. Outside, the night is gulping down the last of the December sun. The snow is just beginning to fall. I sink de...
Posted by H.C Mike on Sat, 18 Aug 2007 02:26:00 PST |
Late Anniversary |
In the wilds of summer, my hair grows long. I sweep the autumn brown strands away from my eyes and concentrate on the pen that sits in my hand. I have been dreaming more deeply lately and I ...
Posted by H.C Mike on Fri, 20 Jul 2007 07:37:00 PST |
The Change |
{This is again simply a page, unaltered, from my little black book. Love.}I have been reading a lot of Gibran lately and a lot of his biography, which I find immensely moving. I feel like I can draw a...
Posted by H.C Mike on Sat, 04 Aug 2007 01:04:00 PST |
Montana! |
So I just got back from a place called Montana, where two of my best friends and I hung out with the most amazing people, did the most amazing things, in the most amazing place. I haven't laughed that...
Posted by H.C Mike on Wed, 28 Mar 2007 12:53:00 PST |
Vignette of Morning .2 |
It is still early. The cold slows the circulation of the town and bundled-up dog-walkers keep their heads low as they drift mutely toward their destinations. The birds are statues on high-wires, etche...
Posted by H.C Mike on Mon, 08 Jan 2007 11:19:00 PST |
To All the Children of Saint Dismas: I am so Sorry |
We are thieves.We slip silent through night's cloak, over every chain-link fence and past every abandoned backyard pool.We creep close to all the windows, stand just outside all the doors."Heaven," we...
Posted by H.C Mike on Tue, 02 Jan 2007 11:47:00 PST |
