Colin Gilbert
Colin Gilbert Poems
Every year, new idealist volunteers,
more tourist than missionary, come
to save us with their insect repellent and
books. They build tombs from our jaws.
...
When the girl who looked like sun rays fell
and twitched like an electrocuted fetus,
most of the third grade class laughed. Some
even pointed as if marveling at shooting stars,
...
Do you remember when we were songs?
We twirled in lawns and streets
arms outspread
believing
...
When the circus left town,
it took all of my ex-lovers with it.
I was relieved.
...
painted across the new face of man
awakening from unlearned sleep
bled between shackle and wrist
...
silly bird,
you fly every day
as if you will see something different
...
I.
My city stretches toward the sky
clock hands at the witching hour.
...
Colin Gilbert Biography
Colin was born in the small east Texas town of Overton, Texas. He currently lives and works in Bryan, Texas as a freelance writer & editor. He is the recipient of multiple honors, including the Hughes, Diop, Knight Literary Award. He was also chosen as one of the winners of the 2013 National Poetry Awards Haiku Contest. Colin's writing can be found in a number of print and online literary journals, magazines and anthologies. More of Colin's poetry (including an extensive Haiga gallery) can be found on his official website www.colinpoet.com.)
The Best Poem Of Colin Gilbert
Saving Grace
Every year, new idealist volunteers,
more tourist than missionary, come
to save us with their insect repellent and
books. They build tombs from our jaws.
They only see our eyes to spotlight them
yellow. They prefer white in everything,
except souvenirs. They teach us
to build fences around dirt and name
our children after men in their churches.
They burn water to drink. They cut trees
for more dirt. They always leave
more excited and weighted down
than they arrive, stories of squalor
and righteousness overflowing their egos.
When their vegetarian ethics condescend
to our tongues wet with dead cow and air
salted by methane, we thank a God
they do not believe in for food. Their words
crawl in our heads like maggots in a bird nest.
Our eggs are broken.
www.colinpoet.com
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