Tag Archives: World Poetry Day


For World Poetry Day.
A poem.
Just three lines long.


The broken rhyme.
The strangulated sentence.
The pig iron ring.
The bruise that never heals.
The slam of a door.
The crack in the skylight.
The louder you are.
The quieter I become.

The world on fire

World Poetry day seems to be spilling over into today. Here is a poem by Jim Morrison; it features on the posthumous Doors album American Prayer. Back when I was nineteen, I couldn’t get enough of the doors. One of my favorite memories is driving down a Chicago Highway, in a beat-up pickup, LA Woman blasting from the radio.

The Grand Hotel line, I must have accidentally adsorbed. Because its the title of one of my poems. Anyway enough of my words, here is Jim Morrison, talking from the grave.

The world on fire
Taxi from Africa
The Grand Hotel
He was drunk –
A big party last night.
Back, going back
In all directions.
Sleeping these insane hours.
I’ll never wake up in a good mood again.
I’m sick of these stinky boots.

World Poetry Day

Its World Poetry Day today. Here is one from my forthcoming collection Broken Down House

Grand Hotel

The way she shakes so,
is inductive of her age.
But in the morning she is still.
Then her body unwinds,
and springs into action.

She wakes before me,
then wakes me with her soft gurgling.
And the force of water against stainless steel.
And the pad of her feet past my bedroom door.

I think of the contrivance Gilbert O’Sullivan made,
when he sang a love song –
only to reveal its subject was a child.

I choose no sucker punch.
The gurgling is the sound her throat makes,
when she wakes.
And the pad.