C. Dale Young Poems

in memoriam Cecil Young

I am addicted to words, constantly ferret them away
in anticipation. You cannot accuse me of not being prepared.
I am ready for anything. I can create an image faster than
...

Beyond the strings of water
clinging to the windowpane,
...

Midsummer lies on this town
like a plague: locusts now replaced
by humidity, the bloodied Nile
...

Tired of the empty fields,
the saw grass stretching out of ditches,
the yellow-petalled weeds by the roadside,
...