wide open this skeletal frame indecently bare no smog just rain no sheets you see this migraine naked skin skull- temples throbbing 10/20/80
Author Archives: Anne Birkam
Don’t talk when not spoken to
A rocket is lifted off the ground, gazing faces astounded at the booming sound which roars and roars and roars. Pounding, pounding from the start the beat comes through as part of that deadbeat cart rolling on and on and on. You should do this – you should do that do not wander near aContinue reading “Don’t talk when not spoken to”
Nostalgia
The words that my parents never used from the house of white they come – I hear them on the news. A behavior so childish they would never approve, yet the highest in the land they sink – decency forsooth. Alas I miss those days when civility was rule, that kingdom of my parent’s houseContinue reading “Nostalgia”
they tell me
they tell me my mother has a lovely smile when words turn to mush and the past departs when schoolyard bullies tweet nuclear taunts my broken soul remembers just how lovely it is – my mother’s smile 1/4/2018
Stealing metaphors
Beware the use of adjectives, the holiest of gowns. They turn your nouns chameleon, when Barnum comes to town. The noun is self-sufficient when it tells you lie from truth. The conjurer will mix them with gold and silver, ruth- less in redefining the language to fit his needs. Entitlement becomes the unearned benefit andContinue reading “Stealing metaphors”
Chronicling the abyss
Dante anteceded Don Quixote when he probed the depths of hell. Each circle brought him deeper through the deadly sins of yore. Sweet wife of George, not Beatrice, centers the life I lead, and while she slept profligacy managed to reemerge. America’s sad tale of take and take from the labor of the hoi polloiContinue reading “Chronicling the abyss”
Canvases are flying
Into the wind they sail like paper airplanes, afloat on the molecules of moisture, and then they come soaring down into puddles of mud and stained with grass. They doted on the child who was born with golden hair, eyes of innocence, red apples at lunch and a banquet – a table set for dinner-Continue reading “Canvases are flying”
While you were sleeping
My mother sits beside me, I warm her hands with mine, her eyelids close in sleep – her memory is lost in better times. The 1930’s were dark – but from this darkness came a deal for the ages. The farmhouse of her youth was reached by the REA*. The mother of my youth, knowsContinue reading “While you were sleeping”
Mind fog
There is a tickle brushing cells downstream; gist of a fickle throat. Chide me not it is not vanity; my words, my words let me hide. Shady is the song of mime; silence warbles at a fate no longer sure. Songs that need no words, refuge of inner ear, not the world of kings. MustContinue reading “Mind fog”
The gentle earth is hidden
The gentle earth is hidden when neurons run around; the junco and the goldfinch have disputed Niger’s perch; no hunger is abated when instinct makes a push, and then the Cheshire smile awaiting brings paw to claw and so we watch as dirt meets bone alas, forever more. The cats who owned me stayed insideContinue reading “The gentle earth is hidden”
Anne's mediocre poetry 