Hunter Hansen Poems

The batteries of powder as they drive
Through a clearing; have and have not survive
A tale of tempest and tempest’s tale
Telling of the trees that stood when the winds prevail
...

Consider my surroundings; the snow-capped lava stones
Freckling the landscape pristine, a whited glassy sheen
Glistening with reflections on a sharpened sky of blue
And shimmering with frigid stillness, sunshine no warmth bears
...

The axe through the wooden piles plows through
Cleaving, a wintry fog and dry rain leaving,
And chips of timber and clovers left in silence pondering
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The apple peeler
Is a handy contraption and a
Knife fighting trick
That pains far worse than
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As my body, pierced, stripped and bleeding
Dragged on a circuit around my walled city
Of indefatigable resolve
I lay wounded, dying, hurried
...

Having lost myself in wandering
Watching one estranged conductor leading
Some symposium of roses
...

A stunning denouement, a riposte
Like flaming posts in the Garden of Eden
Left me bleeding
And still needing, in need of still
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As dreamt on the fringe of light decaying
Mourning the snow falling in rain
Melting in hearts split apart by distance
Joined by voice
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October ushers forth its own fangéd dreams
Sinking its sharpened teeth into the lushness of the future,
As with cadences of moonlight falling, as do the deceased
Raindrops continue to rain over those who in their silent
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Vignettes and oubliettes
With curios stacked upon a buttered shelf
And myself
Strolling amid the raindrops on mournful descent
...