Free Verse


In my dream
all the words
in all the books

have escaped 
from the prison of their pages
and are now roaming free.

Fearing the worst
I rush down the stairs.

Imagine my relief
when the only thing amiss
is a Billy Collins poem
playing cards in the kitchen.

Each line is in its own chair
except the ones that rhyme 
and they are huddled together.

A tall line of verse
on a semi-colon cushion,
plays a high heart
from his hand full of similes

and others follow suit
until a short one
trumps it
with a metaphor.

Introducing myself
I politely ask 
if they could finish the game
inside my Kindle

and away they go
on iambic feet
back to the shelter
of their anthology.





The Weight



Every poem
should carry some weight

so let this one help us
haul that load

of everything
we should have done
but didn’t do

up over the next line

finding a foothold
on the next
word

one hand grasping
a vowel

climbing again

stopping
a second
to catch our breath

dragging that sack
onto a ledge 
right at this phrase

where we’ll stop
a moment
and rest. 

Then we’ll dump it
over the edge
into the river below.