Tag Archives: Poetry

Doll Maker now on Barnes and Noble

My book of poetry, “Doll Maker” is now on the Barnes and Noble website.

 

 "Doll Maker" front cover"Doll Maker" back cover

The Doll Maker is taking women off the street and turning them into dolls before killing them. Will he be caught?

 

You can find it here.

It is also on CreateSpace, Amazon in paperback and on KindlePowell’s Books, and on ebay.

 

My second book of poetry, “Duskhouse Player” is available on Amazon as a paperback and Kindle.

 

"Duskhouse Player" Paperback cover "Duskhouse Player" Kindle Cover

Life is a series of random events laid out by Fate. Poetry is the paintings of her face. Duskhouse Player takes the random parts of life and pulls them out of a hat to give you a different experience in poetry. Its joyful and sorrowful.


Duskhouse Player

My second book of poetry, Duskhouse Player, has been published through Amazon.

 

 

 

Life is a series of random events laid out by Fate. Poetry is the paintings of her face. Duskhouse Player takes the random parts of life and pulls them out of a hat to give you a different experience in poetry. Its joyful and sorrowful.

 

Purchase the Kindle edition here, and the paperback edition here.

 

 

 


End

The books pile high
and the military
becomes the police force.
Torches in every man’s hand.
I hide, watching.

Skyscrapers once reached
to the heaven.
Now, they are crumbled.
Pictures, not withstanding,
no one remembers.

With no choice, but survival
they turn to him,
the man with the torch,
setting the books on fire.
I watched.


Summerland

Hell is a place for the Christians

after death. That is not my home.

 

My body will lay among

the roots of the fields,

which will grip my flesh,

and worms will break my body apart.

 

My soul will see no fire.

 

Flames cannot harm me,

because I do not believe

in a place where you are punished

for mistakes you are supposed

to learn from.

 

A scatting will let

me pass through

the veil,

 

where I will learn my lesson,

and be reborn.


Untitled

I wish there

had been a physical

slap across my face

 

Don’t talk to your Nana

that way! She’s not a dog.

 

Then what am I?

 

A physical pain

assaults me when the shout

comes without warning.

 

If you break that dryer,

you’ll be sorry.

 

I already wished

I wasn’t born.

 


Nest

There once had been nothing

beneath black wings,

flapping with all my might.

No wind today.

 

An egg lays ready to hatch,

but ruffled feathers

have been plucked before

it arrived. No wind, still.

 

When the shell cracks

and falls apart, squished

face has green eyes blinking

against the harsh light

 

and the beak-mouth opens

wide. Shrieks call out. Breeze.

The larger beak-mouth could

not reach for wailing

 

chick, numbed from surgery

and drugs. The one whose movements

were not hindered reached

for the fluff. There is wind today.


Untitled

The breeze ruffles my hair
like an older sibling,
trying to tease.
The trees dance with leaves,
flitting around on their stems.

Petals from the Sakuras
land at my feet. They
are the rain. I see
why they are honored
every year in Japan.

The snows have passed
away from bright,
yellow light that burns
my eyeballs. I can’t see
the pink downpour.

The Cherry blossom trees’
flowers are gone,
proof that Spring
has come to Roanoke.
Weather be damned.