Theresa Haffner Poems

Poetry is dead and God is alive.
I heard these words and began to cry.
Without poetry what would become of me,
Drowning in a sea of Christianity?
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To find a spiritual center
by listening within
by shutting out external sensation
by discontinuing the
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she lays on the bed
with a young man she shares
night gowns with
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nights like tonight

with the fires of the infinite
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I woke in the morning to the raucous “caw-cawing” of a crow.

He was perched on the electric wires above my sidewalk bed, swaying back and forth in the breeze to keep his balance as he cried.
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of the meaning of love
thought streams trail loosely
shrill cat screams cut across midnight alley
car horns arabesque in the moonlight
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one

We are in the last month of the old millennium.
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to fight the bitter fight

to wage the bitter war
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many days have come and gone
and still i linger here
climactic times have been and passed
and still my mind’s not clear
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When Billie Holiday died
(for all our sins)
all she had was $500
taped to the inside of her thigh
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