jerome moore Poems

Drop Bars not Bombs
Make Chai not War
Baseball not Bombs
Books not Bombs
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clacking phonemes
tiger lilies mute to pounce
like fires in hills
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Painted Zebra legs
Wax lips, mexican chocolate.
Crowd of spectators
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I wonder through a land of great impressions
dreaming of Richmond, flag limp against black horizon,
bleakly marching through the falling city, scraps thrown to wolves
that dance around cinders in snow.
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I remember you as life against the dying sun.
Fire burned white and pure heat
a river that finds freedom in the labyrinth sea
morning glory among decaying leaves
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Freedom of Bondage
Paradigms
Shapes
Photography as theft
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Rooftops echo like a canyon lake
crashing all around me it leaks
thunder growls hard and loud in the bushes
loud enough to put fear of god in me
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As a Crimson glider sinks to the belly
of subterranean stairwell,
pierced through by tin can rooftops.
It scrapes the walls in a pitiful foray.
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Looking beyond the horizontal glow
the clouds in the sky, the fields that pass me by
thoughts that shine through the windows
barren landscape of crosses and steeples reach the heavens
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her hands curve,
around the arching spiral lattice.
Dancing the steps above oblivion,
onto impestuous poison whisps,
...