the cup

September 30, 2012 § Leave a comment

the cup of parting – filled now
it is smooth of edge
on your trembling lips
do not say
the thing you so
want to say

the described queries

September 28, 2012 § Leave a comment

yes, but
which flower –

first auto

September 28, 2012 § 2 Comments

traditionally engendered
privileged to
continued service
waits under the oak
for the explorer

the numbered ballads:4

September 27, 2012 § 1 Comment

pocketed chime
wound chain wristed
behind it, left minutes
ahead of it, time


September 27, 2012 § Leave a comment

the rain
gave life to the bike
on the grassless
front yard

my little fort

September 27, 2012 § 2 Comments

it is
where I am
when you think I’m in my chair
seemingly concentrating
on a book propped against
the cat
sleeping in my lap
what you are seeing
across the room
is an apparition
of someone far away
in a small suburban
backyard fort
with walls of
faint pictures
lashed together with
ever changing tales
of boyhood

the numbered ballads:3

September 27, 2012 § Leave a comment

the line
has been laid down
it’s mine
yet remains unknown

Where Am I?

You are currently viewing the archives for September, 2012 at Fred Whitehead's Blog.