All posts tagged: poetry

The Vultures Stared

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The vultures stare, what does it mean? Does something wicked this way come? Nothing is as it seems they gather silently in the trees no one knows where from they peck at my heart upon my sleeve The vultures stare, what does it mean? gray in judgment: cold in blood Nothing is as it seems Love is blind, and lovers cannot see Rough winds do shake the darling buds The vultures stare, what does it mean? happiness takes his leave. rain pounds earth into mud Nothing is as it seems To be, or not to be? the tides surge and valleys flood The vultures stared, what did it mean? Nothing is as it seemed

The Trees

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the trees were planted all in rows as I drove they spun and danced wildly, in the headlights’ glow the trees were planted all in rows swaying to and fro leaving me entranced the trees were planted all in rows as I drove they spun and danced

Back Alley Deals

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Operating for over 200 years, Brattle Book Store is one of Boston’s original book shops. The first time I visited was my sophomore year of high school. I had just just finished the full 20 mile loop for Boston’s Walk for Hunger with my friends, and my feet were so swollen, I was limping. I just wanted sit on a bench with the Ben and Jerry’s bar the walk’s organizers bestow on everyone who crosses the finish line. But my friends convinced me to begrudgingly limp a little bit further, to check out a bookstore a few blocks away. It was worth it. I loved the creaky wooden floors, the narrow isles between shelves stuffed full of books, and the quiet of the third floor, reserved for rare and antique books. The best part, however, was the outdoor sale in the alley adjacent to the store. Everything was three dollars or less, and I wound up buying a hefty National Geographic photography book for two dollars. I still own it. I went back again and …

Underwater

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I never forgot to blow the air with force out of my nose whenever my head was abruptly submerged underwater exhaling to keep my lungs from filling up with the cold ocean that stings my eyes and the little cuts from my razor blade wading past our knees to see if the waves could knock us over or that time we jumped off Jaws bridge on the Vinyard Except now I am the only one creating the waves that knock me over filling my lungs up my head deep underwater ***** Just posted this on Dverse’s open link night, check out some of the other great poetry over there tonight!