Wayne Wickham Poems

As a child, my footprints were small,
Leaving tiny, soft prints in the snow.
Occasionally, they would be joined
By the larger prints of my parents,
...

The lights dim,
The audience quiets,
For the play is about to begin.
The curtain is drawn back
...

One bright and rainy day,
In the middle of the month of May,
A purple potato lay
Too long out in the sun.
...

memories
of times long past
of recent occurrences
good and bad
...

I woke up this morning, put my foot in a sock,
Threw my hat on my head and looked at the clock.
As I looked, I frowned, and I understood my fate,
That if I lingered much longer, I'd surely be late.
...

This morning was odd, I'll agree with that,
For I woke up believing that I was a cat.
It began in the bathroom, I'll admit that's for sure,
When instead of a shower, I started licking my fur.
...

On a white stallion, he rode to the castle above,
Soon to encounter his one true love.
There she waited, high in her tower,
More anxious to see him, with each passing hour.
...

floor...hard
carpet...soft
light...hard
dark...soft
...

Small, round and sweet.
Sitting together in a vague circle,
Surrounded by tasteless china.
Stems thrusting out of the fruit,
...

Once upon a time, in a faraway land,
Underneath the mountains that resembled a hand,
There stood a dark castle, foreboding and grim,
With a moat all around, and cast iron trim.
...