Biography of Shirley Alexander
Shirley Alexander lives in Crawford GA. Her poetry, short fiction, photography, and art have appeared in numerous local and regional publications. Website: Here In The Life Of An Unknown Poet.
Shirley is also a self-employed small business owner and a beef cattle farmer.
Any messages to the poet are welcome.
Shirley Alexander Poems
Something From the Woman I Left Behind
1978, the seventh anniversary of our marriage we spent the night in a van, on top of Brasstown Bald mountain.
More Than She Knew
She sits by a bright, bare window in a chair that has seen too much wet. She is picking on days in her past, fingers digging nervously into scalp.
Presents From Jim
Nineteen sixty-nine. The autumn fair was in Athens. I was sixteen. You had finished your senior year.
Tricking the Reaper
The land has many spirits. They see us; they know us, better than we know ourselves.
He said I sleep like an unborn child, naked, with knees drawn to belly, hands clasped palm to palm, and held tightly together by thighs clasped tightly together, by instinct.
My First Broken
I carry a small black pouch in my heart. Baggage packed in the seventies
The Ballad of Bumble Jack-(a bit of fun)
Bumble Jack was a simple soul, and he had a simple plan.
Sweet Wine and Saddle Oxfords
Fara comes to me often lately, comes down from Grey Hill,
Do You Remember Fireball Roberts?
Sometimes we connect; unexpected moments of touching. I think you never remember the pain of a young girl who knew.
Here In The Life Of An Unknown Poet
I am not the woman people envy in her confident, got-it-all-together stride. I am not that person who is called to offer prayer in a gathering of Christians.
Somewhere, in the damp mold and earthen rot of a Georgia landfill, all the old pages of her calendars are steadily feeding worms.
In this green forest, there is a sweet dampness; blossoms dropping jewels of spent raindrops. On this path, soft with cushion of moss and fallen leaves, my world whispers passion with the voice of a lover.
I dream I am walking on a high swaying bridge. It is made of old wood, like sun bleached barn siding, more visible in evening light with splintered edges forming deep shadows of grey and blue.
Ghost Of A Blue World
I dreamed I was flying over the ghost of blue world past. The buffalo ran before me, thundering through the plains.
Ghost Of A Blue World
I dreamed I was flying
over the ghost of blue world past.
The buffalo ran before me,
thundering through the plains.
And I heard a wail in the wind
like a thousand voices whispering,
spreading the rumors of change.
And all the nations were gathered
on the burial grounds of man,