Poems

A Room Full of Mirrorsby Dawg Here lies the room where nightmares make their home,each pane a twisted face where shattered fears roam.Reflective walls throw back the madness and the snare,mirrors hold the tremors of the soul laid bare. Fragments of terror dance in grim display,haunted faces in the glass that twist and sway.In every […]

I liked the seat beside the glass. I watched the whole wide morning pass. The yards, the dogs, the dripping line, The little store with crooked sign, The man who swept his porch each day, The girl whose cat would run away, The field behind the Baptist church, The crows that lined the fence and

I found a penny in the grassA little dull, a little wornIt looked as if it might have sleptOut in the rain since I was born I picked it up and rubbed it cleanAnd watched it catch a bit of lightA tiny copper-colored moonThat somehow made the day feel bright They say a penny brings

For once there was a leprechaun wherever he may roam For once there was a leprechaun that didn’t have a home Once there was a pot of gold Shiny, bright, and very old Hidden by a willow tree behind a little stone He wore a coat of leafy green And patched up little shoes He

The piano at church was darker than the pews and had old yellow keys, and when the lady played on Sunday the whole room changed to me. It was still the same white walls and coats and mothers with their hats, same stiff collars, same hard shoes, same little girls with bows in back. Still,

After school when everybody had gone home I saw one swing still moving. Not much. Just enough to keep moving. The chains made that little sound they make when no one is laughing and no one is waiting a turn and the blacktop is going gray. I do not know why I stood there. It

The house down the road stayed empty for two whole years, maybe three. No dog, no car, no washing hung, no smoke from any chimney. The porch leaned left. One shutter banged. Tall weeds climbed up the steps. A window on the top right side caught sunset and looked wet. Kids said a man had

The closet door at night can seem Like something from a spooky dream By day it’s full of shirts and shoes And games with one or two parts loose By night it is a darker place A silent door, a black flat face I stare at it from where I lie And make up reasons,

Past the fence and past the field, Down where roots begin to build Little halls beneath the ground, There runs my creek with talking sound. It is not grand. It is not wide. You cannot sail a boat inside. No one would point and call it great. It never hurries, never waits. Yet when the

I woke and heard the grownups sayThe roads were bad from snow todayI jumped right up and ran to seeWhite frosting on the hedge and tree The yard was bright, the porch was deepThe cars looked half-buried in sleepThe sky hung low and soft and grayLike winter did not want to stray No school, no