w.w
Pleated cotton kisses the cold concrete step,
I'm too young to understand meditation,
I stare at ants,
A bag of books,
Homework can wait,
Sweets stuck to corners in my pockets,
Every corner on the street has an adventure,
Curtains dancing, eyes spying,
I could have gone to town on a half torn bus pass,
But I'd miss the metal key turning,
The sign that waiting is over,
Hours have passed
But I'm used to the waiting.
post traumatic observation #2
I keep going to the moment when he produced the gun
the the steel pressed the flesh of my temple
his crazy eyes
mouth screaming "I'll drop you"
I have no control in this moment it seems
I'm doomed to live it over and over and over
despite the fact that Nico never pulled the trigger
he is a trigger
gateway into the rush of anxiety
that yields explosiveness far exceeding
any gunpowder and hammer.
by Edward Storm
Beautiful
The Master and the Student
Emperor of Huckleberry ice cream
waters Idaho gold a shade of green
while hanging our clothes out upon the line
these fine pilgrims raz the cell tower pine.
Trimming away the sad old rose thorn,
the sea farer cries, and gives this his scorn
ignoring the sad old campfire songs
when Kubla Khan’s pleasure court sounds the gong.
Sit with a pipe full of Oregon weed
and watch the black billed magpies fly and feed,
at last, we have a king who shares his rings,
goes deeper into the nature of things.
We ain’t got sun valley money honey,
drink from a jar he placed in Tennessee.
Note: This is a Trojan Horse Sonnet. Six couplets concluded by two lines that do not rhyme.
#4 The Power of Poetry Anthology
Pleated cotton kisses the cold concrete step,
I'm too young to understand meditation,
I stare at ants,
A bag of books,
Homework can wait,
Sweets stuck to corners in my pockets,
Every corner on the street has an adventure,
Curtains dancing, eyes spying,
I could have gone to town on a half torn bus pass,
But I'd miss the metal key turning,
The sign that waiting is over,
Hours have passed
But I'm used to the waiting.
post traumatic observation #2
I keep going to the moment when he produced the gun
the the steel pressed the flesh of my temple
his crazy eyes
mouth screaming "I'll drop you"
I have no control in this moment it seems
I'm doomed to live it over and over and over
despite the fact that Nico never pulled the trigger
he is a trigger
gateway into the rush of anxiety
that yields explosiveness far exceeding
any gunpowder and hammer.
by Edward Storm
Beautiful
The Master and the Student
Emperor of Huckleberry ice cream
waters Idaho gold a shade of green
while hanging our clothes out upon the line
these fine pilgrims raz the cell tower pine.
Trimming away the sad old rose thorn,
the sea farer cries, and gives this his scorn
ignoring the sad old campfire songs
when Kubla Khan’s pleasure court sounds the gong.
Sit with a pipe full of Oregon weed
and watch the black billed magpies fly and feed,
at last, we have a king who shares his rings,
goes deeper into the nature of things.
We ain’t got sun valley money honey,
drink from a jar he placed in Tennessee.
Note: This is a Trojan Horse Sonnet. Six couplets concluded by two lines that do not rhyme.