Lyrical Lament: A Poetry Blog

Sing your song Love your voice of dark honey and amber of moss and pond froth let the blonde iris of song bloom from the calyx of your...

She was conceived gradually a tender-skinned fruit swelling on the branch timid sweetness, yet untasted she ripened over months, years...

Tonight, you are a white tunnel inhaling my thoughts object of desire, suspended My words spilled out before your wet corridor of light...

It might be vanity            or it might be the beginning       of loss the trickle before the flood the drip-drip of an iceberg’s first...

Like a rebellious bird, they sometimes say a slippery fish, a lion on a leash a flaming fox, entrapped, who pines away a moaning bear in...

I am rubbed raw bleeding from small cuts A limp onion, grey and shredded, stinging sour. I harbor dark thoughts. Throbbing, battered, my...

In its suit blue, grey, black, brown it is just a thing like a chair or a desk a piece of furniture neutral Naked, it is a new species...

Your melody, wet needle burrowing in pleated fabric of my layered mind rocked in the cavern of love’s scarlet womb before I bore a name,...

Bursts of rapture all of us, wandering around in our mundanity. You, me. The suffering billions who breathe. We began as points of light,...

Fear lives in the throat like a swollen moon Grief lodges there in chunks—food scraps collecting in a sink’s drain Shame croaks in...

The mind doesn’t go where you want it to. Slovenly, lulled by baked breezes Limbs sodden, limp vegetables in an oven Thoughts slump...

He. fears waking to blank mornings the empty apartment a white-clothed table set for one the growl of silence, a crescendo as the callous...

After Bach’s Mass in B Minor Dripping toward earth diagonal chromatic this blood from flesh to wood to soil crimson charcoal rivulets all...

Salamanders in Silos Summer afternoons, my cousins and I played in the loft of the old barn, leaping from bale to bale, avoiding the...

That spring day I yearned for solitude, wandered from the campground, perched on the trunk of a downed tree, and lost myself Plants...

Age nine. The brick bungalow off Narragansett Avenue on Chicago’s west side a treeless street, houses clustered one after the other in...

At Paris-Charles de Gaulle Like a wildfire. It happens suddenly. She ignites. Ripped red from one end to the other. In an instant, a...

What spills out from me: vines, tentacled sea creatures slick, dark green ribbons of kelp chunks of whale blubber, red krill foam and...

A Golden Shovel poem, after Gwendolyn Brooks’ To Be in Love Love, you are of the body, yet beyond form. You are expressed through skin,...

(After Carson McCullers) There is a girl who droops on the back step of a Georgia farmhouse hunched on the sagging stoop chickweed...