Tom Berman Poems

Herewith
a phrase or two
exploding you
o bladder of pomposity,
...

at dusk
a stork speckled sky

storks are flying
...

I am the imposter
within the poet
imposing on your innermost
tweaking at your heartstrings
...

The wind is whirling the gulls
over a white-capped sea
here, where Pacific ends
...

I am celebrating
by being sick
...

Barchash are little Levantine bugs
Flies most unlovable
Nobody can think of any good
ever coming from a
...

Shall my words
stretched thin across the page
ever shimmer
with living opalescence
...

Time sits on my shoulder
implacable

Time looks at me in the mirror
...

Am I
that figure
at the wrong end
of a telescope
...

Storks circling
rising with the thermals
on a blue sky
...