Terminator

Don’t answer the open-ended question 
That’s waiting at the end—no matter how 

The poem appears 
Finished with nothing 

More to give you, you have 
Yet to give it 

Everything you have and more— 
What on earth are you waiting for?


 

Deluge after a Long-Drawn-Out Dry Spell

So many rushing 
Myriad liquid diamonds,

Even the rocks are gushing. 

Heady, Unruly Spirit

Don’t look now—wind 
Heading your way— 

More than strong 

Enough to carry that 
Heedless head off

And away.

Step Lively, Scouts!

As a way out of deep depression, 
They told us to go back 
As far as we could and keep an eye 

Out for any signs of life, any 
Footprints that would tell us something 
Substantial had been here before— 

All we came across was that familiar 
Hollow echo of footsteps dragging 
The depths that kept after us everywhere 

We had to go. 

Eureka! (Or How to Stop Deadly Writer's Block Once and for All)

Stare at a blank piece of paper long enough 
And before you know it, bang!— 

You’ll find your head filled with lead. 

A Poem Should Be (11)

Unlike a Facebook like— 
A not unmoving contra 
Diction in terms— 

There when 
You need it 
And still 

There when 
You don’t. 

Rising to the Occasion

The sun’s still hiding behind 
The ridge of the mountains 
Waiting for the day to begin 

Something quivering 
Deep inside 
The dark sleeping martyred 

Earth lightly nudges you, 
It’s high time you rose 
To seek salvation, too.