David Kowalczyk Poems

A swan vexed with
scores to settle, November
swallows the earth.
Mystery is born.
...

On the concrete wall of
a very small bridge over
the Tucson River is scrawled:
...

This word is
a forlorn distant rumbling
from the bowels of hell.
...

Never has a day
been more perfect
for a funeral:
as fresh and clear
...

I realized today
that winter would
not exist without
you, Father.
...

To live is to dream.
Magnificent, glorious, uplifting
dreams of heart-rending beauty
even the saints tremble in awe of.
...

I look into your eyes,
painted with privilege,
and see the history of
the Spanish Inquistion.
...

This word wears
the stolen face
of an circus clown.
...

God's face
is
everywhere.
...