shelly keats Poems

The stick-man that I doodle here
is but a few sparse lines, quite frail.
His slender hope meets simple fear.
The stick-man that I doodle here
...

The parasol was wet with rain.
She spun it quickly. Drops popped up.
Goddess Clare laughed; she laughed again.
The parasol was wet with rain.
...

You move in beauty as if home,
for where you are, you there begin.
No need to renovate, to roam.
You move in beauty as if home
...

I must etch Courtney's name in stone
so her beauty may transcend time.
Flesh leaks youth. Old bones moan alone.
I must etch Courtney's name in stone.
...

The Claire bird sings its own sweet song
and flies above the throng in view
then it turns right, and not so wrong.
The Claire bird sings its own sweet song
...