THE WORDS
I always try
(we all do,
I suspect)
to mean more
than mere words
can manage.
The words
emerge
weighted down with
more than I can mean.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Poems by Dean Faulwell, occasional ruminations about poetry. Whatever else happens in. Contact: bigdean321@yahoo.com
Posts
Total Pageviews
Search This Blog
Followers
Blog Archive
-
▼
2010
(172)
-
▼
August
(17)
- SONG OF THE TOUCHED DOGA touched dog wagsautomatic...
- RETIREDSometimes I purposelyspend a whole week not...
- THERERealizing how manyof the stars I seeare no lo...
- THE WORDSI always try(we all do,I suspect)to mean ...
- RUDE COLORSWhat pleases me the most,I guess, is gu...
- DIVERSIONSIt recently occurred to methat not dying...
- MATTERINGThe best part of anyact of contritionis t...
- WHENWhen shooting an arrow,allow for the wind.Befo...
- PROMISESA new set of ruleshas moved in next dooran...
- WAGSometimes my dogbarks at nothing.Or barks at wh...
- THE JANUARY SONNETS 1We begin the day thi...
- TWILIGHTMore than anything elselife seems to bea w...
- LATERWhen someone you lovesuddenly drops dead,don'...
- CERTIFIEDThe truth has a darknessof its own to ret...
- YOUWriting as I always tryto out of nowhere,I end ...
- EARLYThe setting of the suninside my body is slow,...
- STILLSuccess chooses its victimscarefully, carving...
-
▼
August
(17)
No comments:
Post a Comment