Freebies

A collection of free poems, short short stories, and other treats. I hope you enjoy them!

The Woman on the Hill

Here’s a poem I wrote after a trip to Florence. I got a chance to visit a beautiful churchyard overlooking the valley, which is where I ran into the woman. Here’s a Frostian flavored version of the experience… … I walked the via from the crowded square And crossed the Ponte alla Grazie where The…

A Forest Clearing

Amidst a dawning forest clearing Scattered gravestones’ shadows fall O’er foxtails in the melting snow, And from where I stand as dead And rotted stumps they seem. Through a morning’s beam I take a wary woodman’s tread And cut across the field to know If on the other side they shall Appear as newborn granite…

A Splinter of the Mind

Slightly out of breath, the man in the black trench coat slipped into his seat, set his briefcase aside, and peered out the window of the train. The sun was dying somewhere in the west, beyond the ragged, red-tinged rooftops of the city, and it cast a sanguine blanket over the woodland park. The trees,…

A Conversation With Lona

If Lona wanted to avoid him on the last day of his visit, then so be it. They had already spent the week ignoring each other in the hope of preventing another “one-sided discussion.” For the sake of his sister, however, he would at least make an attempt at a goodbye. David pushed open the…

An Ode to Form

With a heaving heart I cower at your pure aesthetic power, Lost on some, but I’m devoured by your sea of symmetry. Whitman wilted well-formed versing, many Moderns spurned it, cursing, But I revel in immersing, swimming in your patterny, Buoyant rhythms, metric tides, residing in your poetry. –No, it isn’t lost on me. Sad…

Search Engine Sestina

This week she’s set before me an impossible task. I want to run, hide with the novelists, the journalists. I want to go somewhere less . . . demanding, take the road less painfully traveled. If I stand fast, I could get trampled by this new beast, get my confidence elephant-stomped into the dirt. Set…

A Sonnet for My Love

Should I compare her to a summer’s day Or to a winter’s gentle kiss goodbye? Perhaps I’ll draw her as a marigold, Or is my love more like the red, red rose? I could portray her dancing dressed in red Across a ballroom brimmed with jealous men, Or pose her silent, sitting in the dew,…