Why a Watermelon?

Why a Watermelon?

by Tim Reed

why a watermelon?

a sweater?

a son?

morning paper?

or afternoon tea?

all consume

ingest

expel

but only a few 

live

Pentecost

Pentecost

by Tim Reed

'Neath emerald 

branches 

boughs 

beams

They waited, breathing prayers of

laughter

'Till golden tongues 

sparked

sputtered 

spiraled

and rested o'er each head

and

October's night breeze

christened

New things

Word in the Dark

in the beginning

you brooded, hovered

o'er ink-black abyss

wings weaving lullabies

safe-guarding, keeping

(with maternal jealousy)

until breath broke silence

and light was born

and I can't help but wonder

do you still brood

over my dark and formless

present? 

and I wonder

what word will come?

(Painting by Mark Rothko, "Untitled 1968")

(Poem by Tim Reed, "Word in the Dark", (c) 2017)

Caprice

Caprice

by Tim Reed

Tomorrow waits

in rose-laden sky

until golden schoolmaster

blinks sullen eye

...and it skips down

down

down

into minds of men

toying, teasing, taunting

 with schoolgirl caprice

bestowing baubles

namely,

hopes and dreams 

Vending Machine

Vending Machine

by Tim Reed

if I must be

emptied

may it not be as a

vending machine - 

slave of convenience,

bound to the tyranny of

the urgent

soul sold piecemeal

to a thousand

disparate causes

Antidote

antidote

by Tim Reed

as salt on the tongue

goads water-desire

as snow-chilled bones

crave pillar of fire

may sharp contrast

of pain, dullness, or hate

propel us toward

The

Antidote

The Fly

The Fly

by Tim Reed

why does he

choose

cyanide
laced with sugar

over

a bitter twist of truth?

because he thirsts more for

sweetness

than for

life.

Deus Ex Machina

 Deus Ex Machina
by Tim Reed

snooze

and

deus ex machina
suddenly

faces of old friends

great souls

spurning the dissonance,

I inhale the rich aroma 

of your spiced hearts

take your hand, in joy

and sob

I've missed you 

but a million dirty hands

lay hold of me

and in my bed I lie

again 

wondering if my

deus ex machina

was

reprieve, or

regress

Desolation #8

Desolation #8

by Tim Reed

there is no return

from the future

spent calendar pages
hold us hostage

 father time keeps us

at arm's length

Arrivals & Departures

Arrivals & Departures

by Tim Reed

the boughs tossed

like

pieces of a broken dream

...the day you left

the heat sighed

and

gave the night 

a sickly sweet

...the night you departed

tell me,

how will it be

when we meet again?

Each Mind a World

Each Mind a World

by Tim Reed

it came to me that

each mind

is its own world, of a kind

same grey sphere from space

but, below

each

street,

store,

sepulcher,

sits or stands

in fierce individuality

One Day

One Day

by Tim Reed

ne  ay

 t  ast

 ife  ill  e  efined,

 o  ore  y

 ow  e  ompensate,

 ut  y

 urity.

I  ong  or  hat  ay.

Fertilizer

Fertilizer 

by Tim Reed

May my old life

Eyes forever darkened 

bestow its flesh to the ground

that, by its sleep

it may grant

Sustenance to the new

And may the new

as a sapling 

be unstained by all

That made death needful 

Vanity

Self-love

Mistrust

- the death of these is life's brew

Against the Dream

Against the Dream

by Tim Reed

the fool daily adds a belief

the wise daily subtracts

the weak, a product of addition

the strong, a product of loss

That Which We Bury

 

 

That Which We Bury

by Tim Reed

that which we buried

is not dead

but, obscured

waits

to grace the earth

below dismal skies

who,

unbeknownst

long for

bright seed-leaves

to banish

a grey presage

Death Mask

Death Mask

by Tim Reed

the Sun

in fading vibrancy

grants the clouds

its dying

colours

Never Take My Wings

Never Take My Wings

by Tim Reed

A rush of power

primal

straining

metal and fire

a thousand drums

drumming

and suddenly, this noise

is made to meaning

as my wheels leave the dirt

give me a star

give me a horizon

but never,

oh God,

never take my wings.

Desolation #7: Oaks and Dandelions

All bonds break

Friends

Family

Love

a lone oak in a field

cursed

To live

Through countless generations 

Of dandelion companions 

Desolation #6: Good Morning Moon

Good Morning, Moon

have you stayed up late

to spy

and try

to pry

me away from the yellow eye?

Never before

has jealousy reached

such great heights

Desolation #5: November

Why do we use such

grandiose

gargantuan

hundred-dollar

words

to describe such

small 

two-bit

hearts?