I was born in Louisiana but I've spent most of my life in Texas, particularly in San Antonio where I met my wife and raised my family.
My work has appeared in anthologies and in print and online journals including The Shine Journal, The Mindful Word, Right Hand Pointing, and others. I am the past winer of the Tempie-Skerritt-Hickman Award and the San Antonio Poetry Fair Award. I recently won... more »
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Charles Darnell Poems
I walk along a melancholy strand, Hearing music played too far To be meant for me. Drifting down the beach,
Ah Jesus! You do me no favors! You give me life, but not my life! You raise me up, what am I to do? You are borne away with the crowd,
Air: A Love Poem
We lay together, Reclined in dark, Your silhouette outlined By ambient light,
You lay in all your splendor, Haughty in your grace And beauty, As if saying to Rome:
Waiting For Joy
We tell ourselves that it will come. It will descend upon us While we are busy Or simply laying about,
Crows of Cain
A murder of crows Feast on another kind. The dried gore A new dinner
Flight of Words
There they go! I knew it would happen. They were hanging around Pecking at the surface
Father, I offer this confession in answer to the purpose of my life. You sent me in your love before your people To show them a path to Heaven.
The spray hits you in the face. The swells bring the distended belly Quickly up then settles with a greenish hiss, Another and another.
Lay Me Down
In my long sleep. Cover me with The warmth of earth. Grow sweet lilies
Quarter Moon Waxing
The moon is in its first quarter. It grows as it crosses the sky Travels among the background of stars Shines like hard diamonds.
Ah, my friend! Come, sit, it has been a long while. No, no, It is just me now.
The Marriage of Jeanne d’Arc
The guests surround me now, Here, on this special day. The priest prays his litany, Tradition of long years.
The painters have it right. Their eye for distant objects That seem to draw All toward it
Comments about Charles Darnell
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
I walk along a melancholy strand,
Hearing music played too far
To be meant for me.
Drifting down the beach,
Distorted by erratic wind,
It faintly pulled,
Like the withdrawing tide
Pulls flotsam from the shore.
Here is where you haunt me.
The hiss of the returning waves
Whisper your name,
The cry of the gulls call,
But you will never answer.
Your image is torn by breeze and spray
Fleeing up the sand,
Hiding in the hollow dunes.