fences
November 30, 2015 § Leave a comment
intricacies of
language
this
web of
disparities
strung
like
dim lights
along
fences
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead
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