Tag: ohthatwright-fav

RASPY voices from the corner table: Joe and his
BUDDY Sal come every morning, for a
DONUT and black coffee. Joe’s dog Max,
DROOLs, waiting for crumbs, mostly patient on the cool tile under the table.

MOSSY stones at the river’s bank. The water mirrors time’s
REIGN: ahead by the bridge pillar, it ripples, eddies, yet streams on.
GHOSTs grow more visible as years flow past–what could have been and what was now seem more solid than the present, as my
TIMER keeps drawing down. How many ticks remain, I ask, as a leaf… Continue reading At the River

CARGO ships pass, out there beyond the point.
HOVEL on beach’s rocky edge can count them, time the
SWASH rolling in. All the world’s trade couldn’t cover the rent
CHECK, yet money floats by, so close, so out of reach.

YOUTH: that long expanse. I’d give many
PENCE to recollect those thoughts. Some periods were a
CRAZE, a tumble to the next obsession. Regular
LUNAR tides of passion made me think life would always seem new.

BOOZE, inward fire of an inward frailing, yielding view
ASKEW on self, on life, all blurred by buzz, curved by thirst.
REUSE crutch, drink each day’s addled quant of time outside of time.
PAYEE: mad, sad habit. Payer: liver, or the thread through it all, or the better moments never met.

GUILT–theologians argue its inheritance, moderns banish it from
BIRTH.… Continue reading Thirst

ALARM would have been in order. Short
PAUSE, then flight into the forests, when Cristóbal
COLÓN and his men arrived.
BURLY? Men on either side were so. Yet guns, germs and steel . . .

LOATH I to join in fashionable decrying, through
MEALY phrases about empire, yet
BEGAN then a new chapter of an old story.
REUSE it in every… Continue reading Arrival

ENNUI, dull note droning all this season,
SPRIGs of hope withering before they green.
LATER days? Is this winter? Or a year of cooling, ash-cloud circulating planet?
SLUNK from me animal spirits, esprit, expectancy.
ARBOReal metaphor to ponder, the dropping of leaves followed by spring
MEDALLing in joy’s event. Or a tree, at whose root the axe is laid, for,… Continue reading Leaden Skies

CHEST of red the robin puffs, perched on twig in
SHRUB on day when snow is gone, yet air is hardly warmed by sun.
CREDO of chirps, profession of tweets, faith-song for spring to come.
BELOW the heavens, below heaven, creation sings for history to flow.

MOLAR mass is grams of mass per mole-you thought I’d talk about teeth, didn’t you?
PROBE goes into the drogue in air to air refueling–what did you think I’d talk about?
DRIER wit might devise a funnier Quordle Poem–what can I say, this is what I’ve got.
BORNE–not an identity, but patiently suffered–like you have, to get this… Continue reading What Did You Expect