douglas lewis

It snowed today.
Not the snow of white
But a drift of petals pink
Like a flight of pillow down.
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White knights
-Impaled-
On candles,
All their deeds
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Why do we run around the
Track counterclockwise?
It seems to me we are
Running against the flow,
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Geese in stroke like rowers,
With wings in dip and pull
To scull across the sky.
Deep vees in fowl regatta.
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I count to ten.
Please breathe.
Any sound would be so sweet.
French horns pinched
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Poems are like pictures.
You edit them and think that's okay.
You edit them again
And think whatever.
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It is not the blossoms
Up high that I covet.
Those were meant
To be loved by the birds
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There is a prejudice against dark
poems. Few are ever written and even
fewer are rated or commented on. Life
has many dark sides to it.
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I can not move.
Fear has bolted me.
Fastened me upon
A buried cross.
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My heart was everywhere.
It pumped with the blood
Of the rising sun.
It beat with the wings
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I think I can do this.
I think I can find myself.
I will start by looking
Under the rocks
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There is something eerie
About a full moon
Sweeping the landscape.
That dusting of silver.
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