Jan Sand

Jan Sand Poems

Split me in two
And spread the gash.
There, between the pillows
Of my lungs, tangled

My floor is littered
With corpses.
The older they get,
The more they stink.


Let's bake a cake for a snake,
Fill our jeans with jellybeans,
Comb our hair with a rake,
Paint our ears with blues and greens.

There is a morning fog here
That rises from the snow
To inhabit head-tall space
In a lightless glow.

There was an old man who was lonely and grim
And excessively technically minded.
He lived with a cat and an owl that was fat
And a fancy new clock. He=d designed it.

The chill air tumbles down from the moon
And splashes through trembling leaves
Tainted by the icebergs of Europa.
Silently, like a frenzied animal,

The waltz of warmth
That dances in and out
Of each year
Is played on instruments

Speeding down the road at sixty klicks,
The tires hiss across the mist of summer rain,
Water craters, bursting fields of instant flowers
Blooming, gone, blooming, gone, blooming -

In the world of wizards
Where words can sizzle, freeze;
Where chance remarks
Can bring down larks

The eye leads and the mind follows.
The ear leads and the mind follows.
The touch leads and the mind follows.
The hounds of mind go howling down the avenues,

I do not know who I am nor why.
I scribble seasons on the earth and sky.
I prescribe the heat, cold, wet and dry
And watch seas, winds, shells of earth, comply.

These times dictate a fashion
That all rhyme be banished,
Vanished. But an inner passion
Bubbles out again, again

Old age has thrown its cloak on me
Blurring eyesight,
Slowing down my walk,
Blocking off old friends

'Here! ' my older son had said,
And thumped the plastic bag on the bed.
Inside I saw the brown-red thing.
Small - rabbit sized.

Come with me to a star
Sixty light years away
And look back
With super eyes

In all the parks in all the world
The old men sit
And feed the birds.
The old men sit

Quietly we watch
The dissolution of the world.
A soft and gentle cataclysm
Like the insidious fall of snow

A blindman poking out
At doubt with his cane
Trying to discern
What insecurities await

Let me ride the tail
Of the blue-eyed whale,
Use the ocean for a pillow,
While the cobalt sea

Royally he treads the land,
The earth, the countryside,
The fields, the farms, the dirt, the sand.
He howls of these

Jan Sand Biography

Originally a New Yorker. Currently a resident of Helsinki, Finland)

The Best Poem Of Jan Sand


Split me in two
And spread the gash.
There, between the pillows
Of my lungs, tangled
In my intestines, buried
In the gory gelatine,
You will find my dead son.
Blue eyes like punched out sky.
His mind could cut patterns
From the world more intricate

Than the fretting in a Muslim temple.
At age two, his angers
Could shred the air
With black knives.
At three, an idiot Israeli
Tossed him fifteen feet
With the snout of a red sports car.
He lived thirty years
With a machine for lungs.
His body, twisted and confused,
Blundered into death
Leading his tethered mind which called,
'Save me, save me.'
I have his legacy.
Black knives.

Jan Sand Comments

Jan Sand Popularity

Jan Sand Popularity

Error Success