Richard Weissman Poems

And she wonders religion, and she wonders spirit and she wonders magic and
she wonders mystic - trying desperate - to escape outside of self - to
think from a cat view and fly from an eagle view, to abandon humanity,
to look out on it stretched cross Wyoming wide stars and down upon it from afar,
...

Blood red wounds wept for this world,
The season of hope unfurls.
Though solution claws up from knotted belly,
Bleak emptiness drains me still,
...

Cold winter's white blanket has bled grey-black from Jersey's sooty shores,
Here 'neath shadows of Wall Street's towered sky,
Here in Richmond, where ne'er he lived,
Here his aspirations lay lifeless,
...

In all life's ways she's back, that voice is back, as truth drifts back, all these paths which they'd wandered and dreamt upon turn back - Now unveiling through blanker verses of death's book, Now revealing as unborn artists look, Now concealing through these shattered shadowed lights of the vortexed color bar in a rainbowed void and so to reveal it that now it is back

Paradox of paradoxes whilst the voice chimes hollowed back though voice itself quieter contained, confined within verbal-lined visions of what? A Silent Echo, better still-
...

Steady sounding of heart suddenly syncopated,
Now faint,
Fainter,
‘til still.
...

Breathing of seconds - off digital clocks, cast iron church bells and distant, hard-fought memories,
The pacing of life,
The purpose of days - together, apart,
This journey half sung rings loud now,
...

Conjure a moment: Sad Lord o Life bids thy soul's parture,
Whom shalt thou embrace mid that instance?
Search now in truth lest Nacht o darkness mares back to Centuric Evil,
Wait for light's dawning - Here mid black-crept hours whilst creativity sparks out,
...

One day honors your birth,
One day transfixes my thought,
One day forever after reminds me of you.
One day is once again upon us,
...

And he shuddered, and vomited, and wept in his hand,
As he stared on bewildered and innocence died.
And the miles of corpses strewn twisted in dirt,
And the hollow-eyed phantoms, in their morgued shirts,
...