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. more »
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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.
The Perseverance Of Easter
Every year this day children search
Do you remember when we were songs? We twirled in lawns and streets arms outspread believing
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,
Popcorn And Ticket Stubs
When the circus left town, it took all of my ex-lovers with it. I was relieved.
A Body's Divorce
(For “The Amazing Johnny Eck” a.k.a.“Half-Boy”)
To Anna Nicole Smith From The Six Soldie...
1 When I enlisted I was told to get a girl back home. Not necessarily a girlfriend.
A Glance Back
I. My city stretches toward the sky clock hands at the witching hour.
On Mourning Acceptance
Budweisers lined up as tombstones, the bartender serves fag
Man Says To Sun
silly bird, you fly every day as if you will see something different
The first time I looked beauty in the eyes, I wanted to pluck them out and wear them on a necklace to all the finest parties.
painted across the new face of man awakening from unlearned sleep bled between shackle and wrist
Comments about Colin Gilbert
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 ...