Scott J. Shepard
Scott J. Shepard Poems
|82.||Questioning The Riverbed||1/21/2012|
|83.||Debating The Dark Spots||1/21/2012|
|84.||Lost In Translation||1/21/2012|
|86.||Prophet Number One||1/21/2012|
|87.||The Second Prophet||1/21/2012|
|88.||A Third Prophet||1/21/2012|
|92.||Revealing The World||9/3/2014|
|94.||The Familiar Strange||9/3/2014|
|95.||Saving The World||10/31/2013|
|96.||Bold And Beautiful||1/21/2012|
|98.||A Little Birdie Told Him||6/15/2018|
Comments about Scott J. Shepard
A Little Birdie Told Him
He was a minimalist.
Like a sky without any stars,
a town busied by each our ghosts
or aims to breath in an basin wide.
He'd often ask of his own,
why the water in his glass?
A perpetual indignation
of his life and what he made it.
He had often said to himself,
could one fully quench the desert?
Need bring its sand to an ocean,
send the fish up to shore
and fill the oasis?
He would wonder about his mortality,
or if his heart was half that of a man.
If his world was so small,
not even the spectres
would feast ...
quiet across the plains.
Tell me your secrets
and I will keep them forever,
voices that slither along the winds.
Their truth all too clear,
Even when the days had dawned to dusk,