elysabeth faslund Poems

Twilight sprinkles mist over October waves...
Ribbing docks, straining through nets...
Into sunset boats waiting for tides...
Wishes of months vanishing in weeks...
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After reading 'The Confederacy of Dunces' (Pulitzer Novel of 1983? set in New Orleans.) , these words ring true. I lived in New Orleans for 10 years.....
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Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?
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A boarder, during WW 2, rented a room at my granmothers house, and stayed....true story/poem...

When he laughed, it was Christmas and apple pie.
When he frowned, mountains tried to run.
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President Lincoln...
Was Booth the only killer?
What about Stanton?
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Desert amalgamated heat.
Dune drenched, inquisitive sand.
Correspondant mythos mirages...
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Knight, in white satin, rode Morning hard. Long.
Lathered clouds, bit flung foamed colors.
Street lights hooved out.
Reined in.
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Then, what nourishes the bee, but pollen
From the gracious, mature flower.
What twists the stolid oak, but age,
Weathering youth to wisdom.
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That Grinch...the one and only, made a mistake...BIG!
Took a splinter out of a reindeer hoof...looked tasty!

SSSSHHHH! ! ! ! Too late! World came to a halt. Hush.
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First draft only....prose poem....
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To the West, I looked.
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Anger...energizes enthusiasm for truth.
Anger...destroys rose glasses.
Anger...antithisizes depression fears.
Anger...has no use for crutches.
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