Tag: poetry

Basement lamp. One face in paint.Impostor at the windowsill with cold palms.He signs the corner and leaves the window cracked—an invitation like a breath into the street.Tonight, a moth maps the lamplight; tomorrow, footsteps might follow.

Basement: damp breath of plaster and turpentine.A lamp pools like a small sun over a half-face—a mouth not yet finished, a jaw undecided.He works until the light invents patience. There’s a calendar pinned above the sink,the months crossed out with cigarette ash.Ideas gather in a cardboard box —old ticket stubs, a hand-scrawled compliment, a smear … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “Basement Sun” – Grand Displays of Imagination, v.3

In the basement’s single bulb—olive light—He oils a stubborn canvas till it hums;A moth keeps time against the lampshade’s white,His brush translates the hush of absent drums. He paints a woman who will never leave,A mouth half-open, caught between a song;The floorboards keep each night’s small, private grieve,A stack of postcards—unsent proofs of wrong. Impostor … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “The Locksmith’s Lamp” – Grand Displays of Imagination, v.2

Winter loosens its grip on the gate,lets the snow slide off like a bad alibi.The ground coughs up its old confessions—knotted string, a split glove, last year’s lie. There’s a tangle of jute in the belly of the bed,leaf bones rattling their thin, dry prayer,a rusted hook humming to the worms,like it still remembers holding … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “Hymn of the Heap” – Beautiful Detritus, v.4 (Dylanesque)

When thaw begins, the garden exhales—thin ice lifting from the hollow of the beds.Beneath: torn burlap, rust-kissed wire, one pale glovegone to the soft apprenticeship of soil. These are the beautiful terms of loss:string looped like an old promise, leaf veins like maps.Frost has taught everything how to fracture well.Time stitches rag to root; the … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “The Garden’s Leftovers” – Beautiful Detritus, v.3 (a touch more wabi-sabi)

At winter’s end the thaw unfurls—snow sighs away, exposing mud:brown earth, matted jute, a coil of string,a seed packet emptied of its promise. The gardener’s tools—glove, snapped stake—lie like punctuation across the beds.Rain knits the ravelled twine to root;wind braids leaves into a new script. What was discarded reads as pattern:stalks turned brushstroke, burlap turned … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “Spring in Rags” – Beautiful Detritus, v.2

They came with metal mouths that sang.The trees folded like paper prayers.We waited until the machines slept. Hole-Wood smells of saw and salt.We call the stumps throatstones.We press our ears and the earth answers. deep voice:— we were columns, we held the sky.— we swallowed rain like coins.— we remember the names of every shadow. … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “Root-Voices” – Deep Roots, v.4

They camewith big hungry teeth —metal teeth that sangand breathed smoke. The trees felllike old men foldingtheir long bones.Sap ran slowfrom their necks,sticky and warm,and the ground tastedfunny after. We go thereafter the trucks sleep.We call it the Hole-Wood.Our sneakers whisperon sawdust snow. Stumps are mouths now.We press our earsand they hum.Sometimes they tell names … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “Mouth: A Child’s Voice” – Deep Roots, v.3