fences

November 30, 2015 § Leave a comment

intricacies of

language 

this

web of 
disparities 

strung

like 

dim lights
along 

fences
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead 

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choice 

November 27, 2015 § 4 Comments

choice
look

into

the wounds
not

a-

way
lay

a

hand
in-

stead

of
raise

a

hand
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead 

bear

November 19, 2015 § 1 Comment

bear in the atrium

moth eaten 

depressed I think

how has he held his composure 

throughout these many years

I can’t fathom 

I’m sure he would like nothing more

than to clamp down on the head

of one of the numberless piss ants

that poke at his pedestaled legs

and feign horror before his towering 

presence 
his claws would easily make

ribbon work of the wheezing 

guard who takes quick hits from

his flask sitting at his feet
the least the prop department could do is to put a replica of a wild blueberry bush in his sight line

one just like the one he was

sampling that morning 

a brave contractor 

shouldered his rifle and adjusted his sight for a two hundred yard shot

with a ten mile an hour cross breeze 
this is his lot

and he handles it with grace
in a reflection from glass of the Arctic diorama across the room

he notices the snow starting to fall

behind him
he sighs and dreams of hibernation 
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead 

after the broadcast 

November 17, 2015 § Leave a comment

after the broadcast
I checked my pulse 

it had not changed 

that alone should have been a catalyst of fear
where sadness has gone to hide

I cannot imagine
maybe it is behind the battens 

put up against monstrosities 

that pulse ceaselessly around us

curled up and clinging 

tightly to joy
which found shelter there

long ago
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead 

drey

November 3, 2015 § 2 Comments

now that October has done
what it had promised 

trees stand

mostly bare

it is then that it 

can be seen

a mass of twig leaf and grass 

suspended

comfortably above in a fork

where prolonged drowsiness 

will reign 

there will come a time 

when my own covering will

fall away

and that thing I spent a lifetime 

building from the things I picked up

and cobbled together 

will emerge 

and within it

my essence will be resting 

until another spring 

arrives 

somewhere else
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead 

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