Sorting by

×
Skip to main content
Category

Poetry

Poetry

How Like Manna

Bright May—but Sober, somber, alone. Scored By razored circumstance. Emptied. So retreating To the soothing shade of the sweet gum tree, A few pieces of stale bread in my hand (The meager offering of the poor in spirit). Broken, the crumbs are cast upon the plush grass. I close my eyes to breathe a morning prayer. When I open them, the birds are there. How like manna For the birds – to awake and cry, Small bellies with bottomless hunger,…
January 1, 2019
Poetry

Insomnia Lines

Life is such weight! That is what you suddenly thought Lying awake in the enormous silence that isThe focus of the insomniac’s pained consciousness.So in that pain, rising to the near window, spying The city’s stillness with street lamps intensifyingThe nightlong gloom, you once again remember the girlWith the crystalline eyes who made you believe inLove at first sight, and the curve of a child’s smile –Softer than kitten sleep – which recalls to you howA child ages to inspire…
January 1, 2019
Poetry

Shadow Line

Night shadows are the feast of awakenings. The outskirts of compassion, absent of spiritual thresholds. They are the counterparts without conversation; the willing partner in an imperfect sphere. They are unassuming. Their intension is directed, visually controlled, a bondage of motion; their gifts are weightless, failing to intrude. Style is choreographed without independence or expression. Roger Singer is a chiropractor practicing in upstate New York. Photo by anastasia on Unsplash
October 31, 2018
Poetry

Searching

Disturbed waters are the evidence of youths seeking a smooth belonging; searching to square off the circle. They are dreamers between rocks, pushing from a hard place, attempting to re-create the beginning without pain, escaping the fires between the lines. Fingers bait the eyes into corners. Second chances come at a cost. Seek to endure without the loss of soul. Roger Singer is a chiropractor practicing in upstate New York. Photo by chuttersnap on Unsplash
October 31, 2018
Poetry

Striving

When the kitchen table becomes a confessional and the combat with demons in the heart hears conversation turn toward tired despair, How many more years, Lord?; I’ve tried to overcome, my spirit scrambles to defend motivation by considering itself a hero from Homer, say god-armored Achilles, some mother’s son once immersed in immortal streams who might famously vanquish the mightiest foes with a blade whetted true upon the Word and protected by a shield of faith, but then I remember…
September 1, 2018
Poetry

The Active Voice

After Camille Pissarro’s Haymaking at Éragny   Pissarro clumped, sculpted, plowed his oil paints to produce this hayfield: fertile pigments mixed, molded, together like squelching mud to cultivate such an agrarian landscape sown with greens, blues, yellows, browns; his passion raising pregnant berms with color on this canvas. Here, between trees, a breeze combs through wheat-sheaves where a woman works a pitchfork in the grasses, ordering, processing, a year’s plenty beside fellow peasants, harvesting what’s needed for unseen hungry mouths…
September 1, 2018
MagazinePoetry

Bigger than Him

It was bigger than him Smooth heart wood     called a walking stick For a three-year-old trying to be older It’s not about walking     running Being first down the trail      nor about the tangle Of want and need        in his legs And it’s not about the way we roll The pitiful scraping of the chin While the spine      backbends around The roll and skiddish landing It’s not the extended yeowl       or the interminable pause Before there is breath or comfort’s coos…
June 30, 2018
Poetry

Having the Last Word

I’m holding a thought    in my mouth I’ve got it polished and smooth, and oh it’s hard II the middle like a rock        I spotted its glint just behind you In the neighbor’s decorative gravel          a confident little sas Calling me       as they say It’s my calling now           a rather remarkable Way to be       to feel right about something I mean I’m actually kind of proud to have it Tucked away        this lozenge held in my teeth      l Like a…
June 30, 2018
Poetry

Gardensong

Hosea 2:7 “What does it matter how many lovers you have if none of them gives you the universe?” – Jacque Lacan “ut operaretur eum” – Voltaire’s Candide Desire is taking a picture of the moon. The trip to faraway that made you miss your bed, an apple gone soft. The way summer fades the new drapes pooling by the window-pane. How pain feels so much like suspense. And I, thumbing my past like an old brochure, a native who…
April 30, 2018