Here there is flesh to spare, but never enough blood.
Tag: Poetry
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.
Memento Mori by John Holland
Nothing here to be had.
Tilting by John Holland
He mounts Ego. That winged ass.
Once Upon A Mind by John Holland
. . .running riot through red rooms.
Broken Wings by John Holland
This world is hard and heavy. Most often darkness rules; but in the sunlight somewhere sings every bird with broken wings. Broken Wings is part of an… Read more “Broken Wings by John Holland”
The Birth of Chaos by John Holland
The sky is indigo and indignant.
Chubb Illusions by John Holland.
As she dances she sings with sweet sickness of her lost love.
Joan Spilman 