Poem 673 - The Bell |
Every time it ringsit marks a space between one silence and the next.Jewels on a golden string.A necklace for a god,or man, or beast.(c) 2009 jl williams
Posted by on Thu, 21 Jan 2010 09:53:00 GMT |
Poem 567 - The Gift |
* Of what is forgotten Six hundred and thirteen Untold stories Steps to the library Burning pages Not yet on fire * Whenever you hear it Write it down Or sing it To your l...
Posted by on Thu, 09 Oct 2008 12:45:00 GMT |
Poem 320 - Sixteen Fell Out of You |
Wanted to know if the leather was real.
Dead horses everywhere this is what
the rapscallions send, a picture of the desert.
We ordered thirst! A constant banging,
we ordered bonafide torture!
N...
Posted by on Wed, 25 Jul 2007 07:54:00 GMT |
Poem 319 - Picture of Fire |
Electric, into the centre
the metal pole rides a bolt
slid down wet pipes, waste water,
lightning shimmies the finger
through the arm to the fillings in teeth,
bone crumbles. Smoking s...
Posted by on Tue, 24 Jul 2007 05:32:00 GMT |
Poem 317 - Sunday Night |
Last night though Sunday with a half full moon
water held boats, boats' reflection.
Lost were the keys, the lovers, the pride,
sun over the roof of a building.
Bad memories dredged up by...
Posted by on Mon, 23 Jul 2007 02:06:00 GMT |
Poem 318 - Liminal |
Behind the wall is another wall.
This hand shows many paths,
where is the key, alignment?
Behind the curtain is a dusty curtain.
A man, a man at the piano,
a man behind the bar, a man
in a bu...
Posted by on Sun, 22 Jul 2007 16:56:00 GMT |
Poem 316 - When You Open Your Heart |
time and love are the same.In your face when you smileI see light shine out.Gears and faces fall out of the sky.Puddles of time catch folk up in the street.A stinging blush at a party confession,a str...
Posted by on Sat, 21 Jul 2007 08:33:00 GMT |
Poem 315 - Bibelot |
Isn't it peculiar how the music keeps playingafter he left the room?All the girls dancing in white blouses andleather trousers, collection of miniatureceramic animals on the bookshelf.You call this ex...
Posted by on Fri, 20 Jul 2007 06:00:00 GMT |
Poem 314 - Glass Flower |
She closes her eyes.A taste issues from the unsealed mine,the skin of a man covered in ash before washing.Down the back patha silver lizard hides beneath a shivering leaf.On an old desk, the glass flo...
Posted by on Thu, 19 Jul 2007 15:44:00 GMT |
Poem 313 - Slow As Waking |
"In short, the work in progress is DeLillo's metaphor for slowness--the only thing more subversive than speed," GEORGE DE MAN
Now when bombs are historical,
language where I grew up was
t...
Posted by on Wed, 18 Jul 2007 03:21:00 GMT |
