Grace . . . kept by itself in the drawer of a bedside table. . .
Category: Poetry
June Bugs by Richard Spilman
Insects have no sense of tragedy.
Age of Loss by Richard Spilman
The web pulses in the breeze — huge, white, glittering with dew.
Conditional by Richard Spilman
let him burn the house down
Come here by John Holland
And let the dance begin
Once Upon A Mind by John Holland
. . .running riot through red rooms.
By Any Other Name, by Richard Spilman
My love is like a red, red begonia. Doesn’t work.
Anniversary, by Richard Spilman
Our love . . . an age freckled map.
Tornado, by Richard Spilman
You could almost hear music.
ICE STORM, by Richard Spilman
Trees like old men, bent with the burden of their bones.
