Warren Falcon

Silver Star - 3,007 Points (04/23/52 - xxxx / Spartanburg, South Carolina, USA)

Warren Falcon Poems

281. Upon Viewing Hiroshige Winter Prints After A Snowstorm 2/9/2013
282. Uses For Wings - Dream Pairing 1/17/2018
283. Uses For Wings - Variations From 'We Can Be Broken' & Other Discarded Poems 7/22/2010
284. Waiting Beside The Asthmatic, Hendersonville, Nc 1980 2/7/2016
285. Wallace Steven's Florida Of The Mind 6/8/2011
286. What Bells & Sex Have To Do With Each Other, A Mythic Rendering From Ancient Texts & Dreams, Circa 1981 1/22/2010
287. What Is Allowed Lace Of Vision 5/20/2012
288. What Is Revealed 10/13/2012
289. What Is Revealed In Two 10/19/2012
290. What Is Revealed Side-By-Side 8/18/2011
291. What Is Revealed, Variation 11/25/2012
292. What Is Seen 4/23/2011
293. What Is Seen - Harlem Tenement 2/27/2013
294. What Pablo Saw In His Final Dream - Una Cancion Por Pablo Neruda 7/13/2012
295. What Remains, Remains 5/31/2012
296. What The Culture Drug In, Patchenesque* 9/18/2014
297. What The Orphan Knows About Light 12/13/2010
298. What This Day Can Be Said Of Remorse 12/6/2015
299. Whatever It Is, A Mariner's Tale 7/11/2013
300. Where Dispose Of The Joke Of Bones - Minimalist Cryptics Sometimes Metaphysical, Circa 1981 2/19/2010
301. Who To Blame - On The Ocassion Of The Deaths Of Robin Williams And Michael Brown 8/25/2014
302. Whose Form Is This Haiku 10/1/2012
303. With Marigolds The Sun Breaks Through Las Grutas** De San Sebastian 3/25/2013
304. With Spring Arrives Blossoms, Bridges, And Old Kobayashi* (W/ Nods Toward Hart Crane**, His Eros) - A Love Story 4/13/2013
305. Words Of An Old Poet To The Younger 12/22/2010
306. Woven Little Mouths Many 11/28/2011
307. Y U Blokt Me? A Website Romance Untimely Ended 5/27/2012
308. Your Letters Arrive Fat 7/13/2013
309. Your Throat Oddly Fish-Shaped 8/16/2012

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Best Poem of Warren Falcon

Autumn Haiku

Even from my front porch
the rusted sewing machine
yearns for golden thread.

Read the full of Autumn Haiku

Ars Poetica Redux

Dying trees easily fall..
Poems, too, as they should.
Dead wood rots from which
One good poem may grow,
The better to hear in the higher
Branches, the creaking lower limbs.

Sequestering lovers late afternoon
Whisper. One is carving the bark,

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