The small black dog
is tied to the porch swing
to keep her from the river.Crows, many, in the distance
complain in loud, quarrel-
some voices. Bird chatterslurs together in an under-
tow of chittering. Nearby,
a red-headed, solitary finchcalling, sweetly calling
from the lilac tree. Light
slowly leaves the sky.
POEMS
A - B
C - D
E - F
G - H
I - J
K - L
M - N
O - R
S
W - Z
MORE OF SB's POEMS
@WATERMARK |A Poet's Notebook
- Disclaimer
Please do not assume that I am the speaker/ subject of my poems.
In these times of creative nonfiction and fictionalized memoirs, I think of the poem itself as true fiction: it is most likely not factual, but it must be true.
It is likely to be -- it is best if it is -- a truth I did not know before I wrote, and may not understand even then.
A poem is my way of discovering (dis-covering) what I feel; sometimes, what I think -- but it is not necessarily biographical.
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