Poems About Billy Collins Seeking Friendly Advice

The truth is just art laid bare
in its fastidious museum.
The poems are just the labels for it.
The admission is free, but we
pay it anyway.

I told you how I write poems with wings
then keep them in the cage of my heart
until needed for a just cause.

Even though the world needs my poems,
it will only dissect them with knives
and pound them with hammers;
reduce them to bitter truths.

They won't fly once wounded,
Just flap and stagger in circles.
I swear their portraits will be
hung in museums one day,...

( after Billy Collins )

 
 
I look forward to enlightenment as I am about to  
retire to a bedroom in a master suite overlooking  
the upper Manhattan skyline of lights that remain  
burning while I plan to sail in a glorious sendoff.  
 
A snifter of brandy helps to set aside anticipation  
of watching fireworks at midnight from forty floors,  
to put me on track the choice of leather I’ll read.  
 
A soft swish of diaphanous curtains sway across  
from stem to stern with a click by remote control   ...

A gathering silence
Thoughts on lips
Silence
Before uttering words
Of no importance

The silence in churches
Before prayers
Silence in the dew drops
That hydrate flower petals
Silence of the birds at night

The breathless silence
Of an athlete before competition
The guilty silence of a sinner
Tranquil silence
Of the falling man

I find silence everywhere
If you would only stop, listen
Random silences of the day
Deeper feeling of silence
In the darkness
...

( after Billy Collins)

 
 
He shows up from out of nowhere,
of dazzling blue once the storm passes by.
Approaches with a smile, eyes of crescent moon,
offering a hand of strength and of mirth,
as honest labor of brotherly love.
 
I could be overthinking an uncommon sight
added to an otherwise common act.
 
Besides, there’s nothing out of place  
when it comes to Winter at this time of year,
with my neighborhood inundated in white powder.
And I don’t question his abbreviated attire,
a...