bonfire

that day i torched all the poetry
i was a sick but determined man
i was looking for liberation like
the great bra burners of the 60s
in pajama bottoms at high noon
i dragged out the olive trash can
gathered up 29 years of poems
every one i could lay hands on
doused them with liquid starter
struck a match and tossed it in



con-trary

having known desire
having drank of pleasure
and purple pain
i stand in front of the mirror
a ghost stirring inside me
inside my musty mind
a hand and
suddenly a razor
rushing through me
one
day someday
one never knows



yaka mountain

lets bury our dirty little secrets

in gods backyard
under yaka mountain

in the heat of the desert

lets challenge the devil
lets dig a hole



sylvias mother


listens outside sylvias door
what is that girl doing why
wont she come out
for dinner why
wont she talk to anyone she
doesnt understand



ripvan winkle

white hair down to his knees
white whiskers of time asleep in her arms

 



--
Jeffrey Spahr-Summers
Poet, Writer, Photographer, Publisher.
spahrsummers@gmail.com
www.jeffreyspahrsummers.com
www.jaspersfollypoetryjournal.com

Bio: Jeffrey Spahr-Summers is a poet, writer, photographer, editor, and publisher. Jeff is the editor and publisher of Jasper’s Folly Poetry Journal.