Submissions by dfwtinman
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
65 yo and I have taken up the pen (key pad) after a long hiatus. My focus in writing now is on having a clear intention and then realizing that intention.
SELF POEM
Published
12th May 2020 8:47pm
12th May 2020 8:47pm
Pike County, Eastern Kentucky
On the day Maude was born,
a quicksilver fog pooled, the sun slow to rise.
Women tended to birthing wounds,
while coal-sooted men sat around the porch, swapping stories and moonshine.
Growing up, Maude often scrambled to the top of an east-facing hillside, peering crest to crest. Her daydreams more colorful there.
Maude lost two young brothers to typhoid. Then two sisters to flu. As she grew-up, men
hovered ‘round her like bees to a blossom.
Maude would become a schoolteacher and marry another, Percy...
a quicksilver fog pooled, the sun slow to rise.
Women tended to birthing wounds,
while coal-sooted men sat around the porch, swapping stories and moonshine.
Growing up, Maude often scrambled to the top of an east-facing hillside, peering crest to crest. Her daydreams more colorful there.
Maude lost two young brothers to typhoid. Then two sisters to flu. As she grew-up, men
hovered ‘round her like bees to a blossom.
Maude would become a schoolteacher and marry another, Percy...
#love
#historical
458 reads
4 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
12th May 2020 4:10pm
12th May 2020 4:10pm
Treehouse Lost
I.
With small and trembling hands,
we climbed skyward
to our temple in the trees,
upheld by roots unseen.
We played while an amber sun
painted shadows on the leaves.
The sundown bell called out,
in mother tongue, "come home."
With shoulders squared,
we clenched our eyes and chose.
The bravest thing I'd ever done
was just a kiss.
II.
The paradise tree's at trail's end.
As it grew its heartwood formed.
This...
With small and trembling hands,
we climbed skyward
to our temple in the trees,
upheld by roots unseen.
We played while an amber sun
painted shadows on the leaves.
The sundown bell called out,
in mother tongue, "come home."
With shoulders squared,
we clenched our eyes and chose.
The bravest thing I'd ever done
was just a kiss.
II.
The paradise tree's at trail's end.
As it grew its heartwood formed.
This...
#love
#FirstLove
491 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
12th May 2020 2:53am
12th May 2020 2:53am
blue angels
Since 1946, 27 naval aviators have died
at air shows, while 500,000,000 fans cheered
on the Devil-May-Care exercises.
18 inches between wing tip and canopies,
crowds feel deep in their chests the turbo fans at Mach 1.8.
Squinting into the sun, the 60 foot length
and 40 foot wingspan suggest a crucifix,
heightened by the missing man formation.
The slightest aeolian shove would seem to push one F/A-18A Hornet into another.
But I don’t hear the hand of God.
Rather, I hear Roll Royce, McDonnell Douglas, Boeing, and...
at air shows, while 500,000,000 fans cheered
on the Devil-May-Care exercises.
18 inches between wing tip and canopies,
crowds feel deep in their chests the turbo fans at Mach 1.8.
Squinting into the sun, the 60 foot length
and 40 foot wingspan suggest a crucifix,
heightened by the missing man formation.
The slightest aeolian shove would seem to push one F/A-18A Hornet into another.
But I don’t hear the hand of God.
Rather, I hear Roll Royce, McDonnell Douglas, Boeing, and...
#God
#angels
304 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
7th May 2020 9:09pm
7th May 2020 9:09pm
Before the Deluge
Once, you didn't need to be Jesus
to walk across the Trinity River;
but that was before the deluge.
Once, Spanish explorers named
the river “La Santísima Trinidad," the same
river native peoples called "Pahnichoba."
Once, traversing the stream's 710 miles
took far more portaging than paddling.
But then came the hundred-year rain.
Once, a burnt sienna blanket
spread copper ooze
across a bone-dry land.
to walk across the Trinity River;
but that was before the deluge.
Once, Spanish explorers named
the river “La Santísima Trinidad," the same
river native peoples called "Pahnichoba."
Once, traversing the stream's 710 miles
took far more portaging than paddling.
But then came the hundred-year rain.
Once, a burnt sienna blanket
spread copper ooze
across a bone-dry land.
#historical
#nonfiction
339 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
3rd May 2020 6:36pm
3rd May 2020 6:36pm
A Rain Drop's Journey
formed around a flake of dust
I fall as rain
surfing the clouds
among a million co-travelers
at terminal velocity
reflections sharpen
lamp-lit wet streets transmogrify
into pastel liquefaction
living in the moment
of the wild ride
oblivious to the buffeting wind
I have no cares
as sidewalks approach
I fall as rain
surfing the clouds
among a million co-travelers
at terminal velocity
reflections sharpen
lamp-lit wet streets transmogrify
into pastel liquefaction
living in the moment
of the wild ride
oblivious to the buffeting wind
I have no cares
as sidewalks approach
#apocalypse
321 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
2nd May 2020 9:01pm
2nd May 2020 9:01pm
Staying hid
I cannot see
through this door,
through this fear,
through this door I fear
will open.
Land mines trip
underfoot,
shatter hidden hope,
shatter hope of staying hid.
Asymmetrical recriminations.
I was blamed.
I blamed myself,
for cowardice and tears.
The boy haunts the man,
the man conceals a knife,
life favored neither
now neither favors life.
through this door,
through this fear,
through this door I fear
will open.
Land mines trip
underfoot,
shatter hidden hope,
shatter hope of staying hid.
Asymmetrical recriminations.
I was blamed.
I blamed myself,
for cowardice and tears.
The boy haunts the man,
the man conceals a knife,
life favored neither
now neither favors life.
#anger
#anxiety
#despair #fear
#despair #fear
461 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
30th Apr 2020 10:29pm
30th Apr 2020 10:29pm
Before the Deluge. Newer version on May 7
Once, you didn't need to be Jesus
to walk across the Trinity River;
but that was before the deluge.
Once, a Spanish explorer claimed dominion over "La Santísima Trinidad,"
but that was long after the native peoples had settled on the banks
of the river they called "Pahnichoba."
Once, traversing the stream's 710 miles
took far more portaging than paddling.
But then, came the hundred-year rain.
The "River of Canoes" was overlaid
by a burnt sienna blanket, spreading
copper ooze across
the...
to walk across the Trinity River;
but that was before the deluge.
Once, a Spanish explorer claimed dominion over "La Santísima Trinidad,"
but that was long after the native peoples had settled on the banks
of the river they called "Pahnichoba."
Once, traversing the stream's 710 miles
took far more portaging than paddling.
But then, came the hundred-year rain.
The "River of Canoes" was overlaid
by a burnt sienna blanket, spreading
copper ooze across
the...
#soldiers
#humankind
400 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
30th Apr 2020 3:24pm
30th Apr 2020 3:24pm
Appalachian Magic
Tough as a coal-camp boot
she’s no longer here
in the day or in the dark
from grandmother to ghost
to gone
I write little pieces of her life
throw them about
bones from a witch's bag
trying to make sense
or peace
'til a moment ago
no words would come
now they tumble downhill
heavy and hard
as freshly mined coal
she’s no longer here
in the day or in the dark
from grandmother to ghost
to gone
I write little pieces of her life
throw them about
bones from a witch's bag
trying to make sense
or peace
'til a moment ago
no words would come
now they tumble downhill
heavy and hard
as freshly mined coal
#angels
#spiritual
583 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
29th Apr 2020 1:20am
29th Apr 2020 1:20am
Event Horizon
this sadness
that singularity
from which no light escapes
dark force of nature
with an awful gravity
every part
now attracted
to this place
before time began
no memory
nor form,
therefore not to worry
what dreams may come
I do not resist
this shrinking orbit
as if I could
that singularity
from which no light escapes
dark force of nature
with an awful gravity
every part
now attracted
to this place
before time began
no memory
nor form,
therefore not to worry
what dreams may come
I do not resist
this shrinking orbit
as if I could
#bipolar
#MentalHealth
378 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
23rd Apr 2020 4:39pm
23rd Apr 2020 4:39pm
Electroconvulsive Therapy
I spy exits and contemplate escape
as my wheelchair wends its way
from ICU to the Fifth Floor.
Three squares a day,
served on trays that bear my name
(a name ostensibly Top Secret).
I share painful memories with other imperfect strangers.
Just part of the game I play
to win my release.
Soon, fate lets freedom evanesce.
So it's "plastic sporks” redux,
while doctors search for vital signs that I'm okay.
After good-time served, I am paroled.
My ride waits for my emergence,
through doors...
as my wheelchair wends its way
from ICU to the Fifth Floor.
Three squares a day,
served on trays that bear my name
(a name ostensibly Top Secret).
I share painful memories with other imperfect strangers.
Just part of the game I play
to win my release.
Soon, fate lets freedom evanesce.
So it's "plastic sporks” redux,
while doctors search for vital signs that I'm okay.
After good-time served, I am paroled.
My ride waits for my emergence,
through doors...
#SelfHarm
#bipolar
#MentalHealth #disability
#MentalHealth #disability
354 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
7th Jan 2019 6:44pm
7th Jan 2019 6:44pm
Some days
I am no longer young.
Some days, I feel myself melting,
a sand castle in a rising tide.
Some days, I spy a sign outside my window: "Beware the Dragon." A clear come on. Yet
my armour’s too heavy; my squires are gone.
Some days, love is just a ripple in a coffee cup.
Only its steam touches my face.
With each sip, the bottom becomes more clear.
But some days, though her touch is a struggle,
I am not without love.
On these days, I am...
Some days, I feel myself melting,
a sand castle in a rising tide.
Some days, I spy a sign outside my window: "Beware the Dragon." A clear come on. Yet
my armour’s too heavy; my squires are gone.
Some days, love is just a ripple in a coffee cup.
Only its steam touches my face.
With each sip, the bottom becomes more clear.
But some days, though her touch is a struggle,
I am not without love.
On these days, I am...
#love
#aging
427 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
4th Apr 2018 9:19pm
4th Apr 2018 9:19pm
Marble Forest
We first learned of the Korean War
from a few posed pictures
of dad in uniform-- leaning on a jeep,
lipping a cigarette casually.
But it was nothing we spoke of.
Did he ever sleep--
on that couch with five children?
Ear to Dad's chest — the catbird’s seat.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
At the end, he just flat froze,
skin cool as Murphy marble-
with immutable alabaster eyes.
Monuments bear witness
to countless abrupt endings, when
soldiers metamorphose from ...
from a few posed pictures
of dad in uniform-- leaning on a jeep,
lipping a cigarette casually.
But it was nothing we spoke of.
Did he ever sleep--
on that couch with five children?
Ear to Dad's chest — the catbird’s seat.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
At the end, he just flat froze,
skin cool as Murphy marble-
with immutable alabaster eyes.
Monuments bear witness
to countless abrupt endings, when
soldiers metamorphose from ...
#children
#men
#soldiers #humankind
#soldiers #humankind
479 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by dfwtinman
