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
25th Mar 2018 4:38pm
25th Mar 2018 4:38pm
Pike County
In Pike County, quicksilver fog pooled, the sun slow to rise.
Maude was born as women tended Matilda Ellen’s birthing wounds.
The coal-sooted men sat around, swapping stories from the
Growing up, Maude scrambled to the top of an east-facing hillside,
scanned crest to crest, the daydreams more colorful from there.
Maude lost two young brothers to typhoid. Then two sisters
to men who hovered like bees to blossom. Maude’s father, Albert
Newtown Horn, was a Methodist Circuit Rider. Mined for souls
and spat when he spoke of "Forty Gallon...
Maude was born as women tended Matilda Ellen’s birthing wounds.
The coal-sooted men sat around, swapping stories from the
Growing up, Maude scrambled to the top of an east-facing hillside,
scanned crest to crest, the daydreams more colorful from there.
Maude lost two young brothers to typhoid. Then two sisters
to men who hovered like bees to blossom. Maude’s father, Albert
Newtown Horn, was a Methodist Circuit Rider. Mined for souls
and spat when he spoke of "Forty Gallon...
#memories
477 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
13th Mar 2018 2:58am
13th Mar 2018 2:58am
Ohio Home
When I think of my Ohio home,
I think of Legos and Lincoln Logs
littering the floor of my closet,
mundane toys posing mortal danger.
Down below, Evelyn Bernice moved,
stalking one of five, lost children.
She was keen for unnatural noise.
Say a toy crunched underfoot.
Shattered hope. E.B.'s ears
cocked, her hips pivoted.
The huntress preyed,
even as her game prayed.
I flinched at the sound of footsteps,
as their quickening slowed my...
I think of Legos and Lincoln Logs
littering the floor of my closet,
mundane toys posing mortal danger.
Down below, Evelyn Bernice moved,
stalking one of five, lost children.
She was keen for unnatural noise.
Say a toy crunched underfoot.
Shattered hope. E.B.'s ears
cocked, her hips pivoted.
The huntress preyed,
even as her game prayed.
I flinched at the sound of footsteps,
as their quickening slowed my...
#mother
#childhood
549 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
6th Mar 2018 5:32pm
6th Mar 2018 5:32pm
Streaming Demons
A costumed Gal Godot arrives
to rescue the famed DC Comics
from an otherwise dull summer.
The search for the Island of Themyscira
and its immortal warriors paid off.
Peace and justice were harder to find.
Screenland Nazis and entropic zombies
rage about, fodder for revenge.
Meantime, our daily bread grows stale.
Why invent our quotidian troubles?
Blood seeps across marble floors,
while hunger eats at the body politic.
...
to rescue the famed DC Comics
from an otherwise dull summer.
The search for the Island of Themyscira
and its immortal warriors paid off.
Peace and justice were harder to find.
Screenland Nazis and entropic zombies
rage about, fodder for revenge.
Meantime, our daily bread grows stale.
Why invent our quotidian troubles?
Blood seeps across marble floors,
while hunger eats at the body politic.
...
#humankind
422 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
25th Feb 2018 4:53pm
25th Feb 2018 4:53pm
Stuntman
While filming a routine high speed run, Dar Robinson rode a stunt motorcycle past the braking point of a turn and straight off a cliff, to his death.”
Wikipedia
Once, I came across a scrawny kid
deliberately crashing his bike.
Over and over. Catching my eye,
he just looked at me and smiled.
Two guys square off against each other.
One appears to land a haymaker.
“Cut” screams a director. Subsequently,
a stunt man goes flying across a table.
A piano is being noisily...
Wikipedia
Once, I came across a scrawny kid
deliberately crashing his bike.
Over and over. Catching my eye,
he just looked at me and smiled.
Two guys square off against each other.
One appears to land a haymaker.
“Cut” screams a director. Subsequently,
a stunt man goes flying across a table.
A piano is being noisily...
449 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
13th May 2017 7:03pm
13th May 2017 7:03pm
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
586 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
5th Apr 2017 7:04pm
5th Apr 2017 7:04pm
Reflection on a wound
Trying to locate
an old wound.
I cannot gauge its depth,
nor the edge of its corruption.
I long for anamnesis,
for the reassembly of these
shards of remembrance.
I struggle to recall
what abandoned love
may still cling to on this
blurry carousel of memory.
I pray I find a way
to cauterize this wound.
To exchange wound for scar,
and slip into oblivious sleep.
an old wound.
I cannot gauge its depth,
nor the edge of its corruption.
I long for anamnesis,
for the reassembly of these
shards of remembrance.
I struggle to recall
what abandoned love
may still cling to on this
blurry carousel of memory.
I pray I find a way
to cauterize this wound.
To exchange wound for scar,
and slip into oblivious sleep.
520 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
13th Mar 2017 8:06pm
13th Mar 2017 8:06pm
Why I hate the sun
The glowering morning arrives,
as the sun eats holes in my curtain.
I make a cave of pillows,
to no avail.
Light, my unwelcome visitor,
dances on my eyelids.
I turn my head seeking darkness,
but the sun is more stubborn.
Finally, I surrender to the inevitable.
Though the house is cold,
the shower's warm water cascades over me.
I hang my head under the clement stream.
I greet the day with a subversive smile,
determined to get even.
But a hundred things call out for my attention,
until...
as the sun eats holes in my curtain.
I make a cave of pillows,
to no avail.
Light, my unwelcome visitor,
dances on my eyelids.
I turn my head seeking darkness,
but the sun is more stubborn.
Finally, I surrender to the inevitable.
Though the house is cold,
the shower's warm water cascades over me.
I hang my head under the clement stream.
I greet the day with a subversive smile,
determined to get even.
But a hundred things call out for my attention,
until...
529 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
23rd Feb 2017 3:37pm
23rd Feb 2017 3:37pm
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 young again.
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 young again.
701 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
19th Jun 2016 9:38pm
19th Jun 2016 9:38pm
Two Runaways On A Twelve Mile Journey
Grinding through the night,
whirring salt trucks spread their car-consuming deposits. With the main roads cleared,
school would be open.
With two plus feet of snow and plunging temperatures, of all days to runaway,
Tim P. and I picked the worst, dressed mainly in Levi's and poly-fill "down" jackets.
Tim P. and I made our getaway at lunch.
With $15 between us, we decided on Florida because, we imagined, it was as warm as we were cold.
...
whirring salt trucks spread their car-consuming deposits. With the main roads cleared,
school would be open.
With two plus feet of snow and plunging temperatures, of all days to runaway,
Tim P. and I picked the worst, dressed mainly in Levi's and poly-fill "down" jackets.
Tim P. and I made our getaway at lunch.
With $15 between us, we decided on Florida because, we imagined, it was as warm as we were cold.
...
#mother
#parent
#memories
665 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
18th Jun 2016 2:32am
18th Jun 2016 2:32am
Twelve Mile Journey
Snow plows groan as salt trucks spread their car-eating deposits. Grinding through the night,
the main roads would be cleared by morning.
In Ohio, that meant schools would be open.
With two feet of snow on the ground
and plunging temperatures,
of all the days to run away,
Tim and I had picked the worst,
dressed mainly in Levi's and poly-fill jackets.
We decided to make our getaway at lunch.
We had $15 dollars between us.
We were heading for Florida, solely because we imagined it was as warm
as we were...
the main roads would be cleared by morning.
In Ohio, that meant schools would be open.
With two feet of snow on the ground
and plunging temperatures,
of all the days to run away,
Tim and I had picked the worst,
dressed mainly in Levi's and poly-fill jackets.
We decided to make our getaway at lunch.
We had $15 dollars between us.
We were heading for Florida, solely because we imagined it was as warm
as we were...
610 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
15th Jun 2016 10:13pm
15th Jun 2016 10:13pm
Quantum Quandary
She fell down.
Down from the stars,
the day we met.
She illuminated me,
every fold in my skin,
every wrinkle in my soul.
Now my time has passed.
She doesn't exist,
not anymore.
Down from the stars,
the day we met.
She illuminated me,
every fold in my skin,
every wrinkle in my soul.
Now my time has passed.
She doesn't exist,
not anymore.
695 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
24th May 2016 3:30am
24th May 2016 3:30am
Chillicothe
Thousands of years before the first Europeans arrived at the confluence of the Scioto River and Paint creek, nestled in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, stood a vast and unblemished forest.
The Europeans built the beginnings of a city there, Chillicothe, Ohio, just before the American Revolution, taking the name from the Shawnee word, Chalakatha, the largest of the Shawnee sects in the area.
Of note, Chillicothe was the first and third capitals of Ohio. It was designated "A Tree City" by the National Arbor Day Foundation. The Great Seal State Park...
The Europeans built the beginnings of a city there, Chillicothe, Ohio, just before the American Revolution, taking the name from the Shawnee word, Chalakatha, the largest of the Shawnee sects in the area.
Of note, Chillicothe was the first and third capitals of Ohio. It was designated "A Tree City" by the National Arbor Day Foundation. The Great Seal State Park...
641 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by dfwtinman
