The Long March

A poem

I cannot see you, smell you
Or feel you
Yet
I know that you are there
Hanging like thick pollen
After the first breath of warmth
On an early spring morning
Silently stalking
As a thief in the night
Omnipresent as the fear
Of humankind
It is early still
The sun is barely over the horizon
The time of day, though, matters not
This death keeps no clock
It grows and adapts
Dispassionately
Like some kind of AI
Then entering, it asks me a question
Will you adapt and survive?

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St. Nicholas and the Tanks

A poem from On Driftwood and Oblivion Children’s smiles spread to the menWho presented joyAfter a long nightmare’s sleepTo the girls and boys. Tanks, raged as a floodAcross the snow-covered fieldsNow stained with their blood. This is a Seguidilla based on a true event that …

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Winter’s Edge

Sometimes the thoughts of wanting to be dead
Come to me when the tribulations of the day
Are better left unsaid
Like the flakes of snow silently floating
As if they never want to kiss the ground

The dogged memories of yesterday’s failures
Pace a slow creep, as if molded by the clay
Of tomorrow’s scriptures
Like the unwanted knowledge of death
From those closest to you among the drifts

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