Alex Garr

Alex Garr Poems

The night tolls the hour of dust,
When the sands fall shimmering through glass
Woven of spectral strands
And the moon goes black.

Swirling chaos,
Vast chasm of nothingness.
Colors and lights flicker into
Existence: blood red and lightning blue,

Wind gusted and
Snow fell.
Flakes blew about this way and that,
Creating a semi-transparent veil of

An orange disk kisses
The tip of the distant horizon, where
A plum and lapis lazuli sky, which
Stretches for miles in every direction, meets

I was watching the sunrise
In Mexico when my horse died beneath me.
I was in Diez Coronas,
On the edge of a cliff,

Hail, hail to thee,
My nightmare,
Whom I fear
Even in the golden dawn.

The breeze of time covers and uncovers
Realms forgotten, epochs lost.
What once was will be,
What will be has been:

The edge gripped with a will
And nothing more,
A soft breeze, a brush on skin.
Falling falling


As the door closed with a gentle click
And the room was thrown into utter blackness,
The young boy cuddled up against
His teddy bear. As he felt the warm

On an open expanse of
Grass, beasts belching exhaust
Eat away at sod and dirt.
Roots of metal and plastic are buried

Leaning in, sweat glistening
On the brow. Lips caressing,
Softly, sweetly. The taste
Of mint and anxiety.

You know that feeling
When you're running
And you take that step
That feels like you're riding

The landscape speeds past as
I run from my pursuers.
The pounding of the horse's hooves
Thunder against the hard-packed earth,

A gaggle of seals sits
On the rocky outcrops of a tiny island.
They yell and bark to each other,
Communicating their thoughts in a language

the sea of blood and menace
churning in the maelstrom
waves of scarlet crash against the land
the tower of bones glittering like old snow on its hill on high

How can I tell you what I see?
How can I convey to you what I feel
when what I feel cannot be said in words?
I want to write a poem so that I can tell you

Calm. Still.
No movement and
No sound.

The young man in the city wears all grey
As he sits in a decrepit bed
With grey draperies hanging over a grey window,
With grey clouds hanging low in the grey sky.

The afternoon sun shines down
With its brilliant radiance,
Bathing everything in its warm glow.
A rain had fallen only hours before;

The shining tip of the Winter sun
Rises over the craggy jungle
Of the granite mountains.
The dark Winter clouds

Alex Garr Biography

Undergraduate student studying history and anthropology. Writing novels is what I love, though I have yet to finish any of the half dozen that I've started.)

The Best Poem Of Alex Garr

The Coming Of Dawn

The night tolls the hour of dust,
When the sands fall shimmering through glass
Woven of spectral strands
And the moon goes black.

Ink and tar meld and
Nyx prances beneath a
Void vacant of Vulcan’s forge,
A void in which neither Orion hunts
Nor Sirius howls.

Timber splinters and
Stone crumbles beneath
The might of Saturn’s amber glow.

Borne of dust,
In blood and fire,
The hand sweeping across
Chasms spanning eons until
Helios wakens.

The dawn tolls the hour anew,
When the oceans form from naught
And the iris blooms in light.

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