Category Cadence

The Crossing Over

Under the nervous street light The cat crosses stealthily Pausing at the edge Of the darker side. One eye flashes And it’s gone Into the margins. Black impregnates black The seed of a dream Behind the slumbering houses. I flutter through empty space A little man with little wings And a mouse’s tail. Suddenly I feel a knife In the back of my neck. I reel, collapse, plummet Drowning within

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For Katy – August, 2014

We hear the drumbeats of these transformations— Heart throbs resonate from atop an unclimbed hill In the center of from wherever you are watching us. You were always the one who was so in love with life— We—will only see a single sunset today— Right now—is the only moment we can be sure of… So let me tell you that I love you— You were all our hopes for tomorrow.

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Throat Punch

Recently, I started writing a few poems based on snippets from television, usually ones I hear as I’m walking past it on my way somewhere else. At first, I thought of this as just an exercise to get my creative turbines spinning, but then I realized things intentionally taken out of context can make for some interesting poetry. Since starting this experiment, I’ve come away with a few poems I like and

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Doorways

If you stare at a doorway long enough Someone might appear Who is not just passing through In the shuffle of it all But who means to be there Or who was sent And has a reason to stare Back at you Or beyond you Or straight through you. Filling void with vacancy This stranger you Seem to know hovers in the frame a frail anachronism one hand clutching the

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The Nerd Poem

My name is Andrew, and I Have a confession to make: I… am a nerd. Now, it’s taken me a long while to admit this fact, but it’s true, and underneath this 175 pound, 6 foot frame beats the heart of a nerd. For example, I am a nerd because I know what a gerund is and also how to use one in a sentence with no fewer than 5

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Michelangelo on Art

Whatever concept an artist imagines Is a reflection of a latent form that lies within A block of marble; the hand alone, Guided by the intellect, can give it form. from Michelangelo’s Sonnet 15 translated by Eric Stephenson