R.S. Farris Poems

o, bright, my dandelion kings, how bright
in the softly falling rays of the morning sun-
o, bright as the sun rose high, unmoved in its
ascent by your quick steps and happy noise
...

the air stands close and still.
time pauses, poised upon
the movement of a hand,
until the releasing, the beckoning noise
...

some have called you proud, and so you are,
though, rightfully, you have no grounds to be:
oh, death, you cannot keep me long.
triumphant though your victory may be,
...

i do not know so many things,
and this blank dearth of ignorange
is paralyzing, conquering at times
...

do i have a right to be lonely
when you cling to scraps of love?

what grounds do i have to be tired
...

Fragile words on scattered sheets,
Looseleaf, blowing away, being
...

Stay? This land is bleak and barren!
A withered leaf flaps in the unrelentless
...

How can you claim to be alive when anything
is more important than the chubby arms wrapped
...

This poetry is not my cup of tea.
An essay’s more my type of writing; prose
is what I crave, what I devour in
my spare time, what I love, as cliché as
...

Life is a vending machine—a real one,
not the impeccable myth that perpetually coughs up correct change.
Put in hard work and you’re supposed to get results;
put in love and love comes back.
...