I was eight and followed wherever light commanded . . .
Category: Poetry
Faith by Richard Spilman
Grace . . . kept by itself in the drawer of a bedside table. . .
Communion by Richard Spilman
Here there is flesh to spare, but never enough blood.
June Bugs by Richard Spilman
Insects have no sense of tragedy.
The Field by Richard Spilman
There are evenings when God walks in this field — yes, this one
Age of Loss by Richard Spilman
The web pulses in the breeze — huge, white, glittering with dew.
Conditional by Richard Spilman
let him burn the house down
Memento Mori by John Holland
Nothing here to be had.
Come here by John Holland
And let the dance begin
Once Upon A Mind by John Holland
. . .running riot through red rooms.
Joan Spilman 