Car and Fuzzy Have to be In the same room As him. Three is all About tragedy. The other The elder Is older now. The first baby I ever held Now rides a bike And sasses back Because Mom Says no To more robots. The first The man Who holds me close Dreams of the … Continue reading My Boys Right Now
Category: Poetry
He’s Tired
He’s tired. Please, wake me up So I can go And lift the world He trembles through. I’m supposed to be The arms that hold Through death and pain Through naught and gold. He’s tired. We try the floor We try the air, This blanket’s thin I really do care! Is it working? I wouldn’t … Continue reading He’s Tired
Skyscraper
Tell me, skyscraper, How do I look from up there? I, one of many, Who can’t touch your clean air? Do you even bother To lean your shadow aside To not crush the ants That walk at your side? Tell me, sky scraper, With your brow in the clouds, Why do you bother To care … Continue reading Skyscraper
Hear the Chimes
In a moment I will hear the chimes of a familial porch I've never been, where the sun warms a spot just for me on the lap of a gentle Father. Dig deep, dig far, close the door on all the noise. Pull me to where no one goes. There, Father waits, to pat my … Continue reading Hear the Chimes
Crazy House Poem #3
Maybe I can bloom into my imagined homes of green gardens and gentle streams filed with jewels for the pleasure of little hands. Precious hands. May I walk among those waters to offer glittering light to the wonder of my little loves? Come. May I call you ‘precious’ and love all your happy times and … Continue reading Crazy House Poem #3
Crazy House Poem #2
It’s hard to think deeply unsettled as shells half-baked and empty on the sand. Only fingers can change my view. Otherwise, I can only wait the eons between high and low sea tides. Even then, no life hangs to my sides, though it was life that I came to be.
Crazy House Poem #1
I’m sure, once a cloud drifted through asleep on drafts of dreams, warmed by dangerous desert lands where the hungry ground eats clouds for life. But in that brief cool morning, when sun was kind and vicious lands asleep, the fog turned golden, alive in delight that the warm dream could come true.
Black Bench
I remember you most on a black bench, fingers on the keys, trying to play as passionately as you wanted to be, as you were, for you held your wild heart uncertainly. You knew not how to hold it properly. But all I could hear was you banging too hard on the keys. Trying to … Continue reading Black Bench
The Worth of Dreams
Those who have reached the dream cry hope, while those who grow old in the gray light of poverty shake their heads. So shake me loose. Where is the middle ground? Or is this overcast life it? They say dreams are fickle, corrupting, even. As much to peel you back for spoils as to give … Continue reading The Worth of Dreams
Off Kilter
I crouch in a dark room. Sun closed off. Sky closed off. Curtains, keep all sight away, because my chest is painfully tight and a hole is burning through me for no reason, and it blisters against the thoughts screaming "Why?" But there's really no answer to that. Or an answer too large to hold, … Continue reading Off Kilter
Author T.S. Lowe 