Jun 5, 2018 | Alexandrine, Daughter, Dream, Grief, Gus Stevens, Hexameter
In my dream, I held too many things in my hands and my fingers grappled and fumbled with the load afraid I’d drop one as I stumbled down the road for I’d balanced several things atop an icebox and my dream-drunk brain was slow, weighted down with sand...
May 26, 2018 | Alexandrine, Daughter, Grief, Gus Stevens, Hexameter, Mom
There are moments that poems are unworthy of. Like the photographs that can never truly show the setting sun nor capture the new fallen snow. Their radiance flattened; their laughter hollowed out. Our highest metaphors blaspheme both life and love; all our symbols...
Oct 31, 2016 | Autumn, Gus Stevens, Hexameter, Quatrains
With a howl, October’s winds shear the fiery hosts of their yellows and reds to leave the branches bare. Then the orphaned leaves are stained, like little brown ghosts, on the sidewalk before they’re raised into the air again. A resurrecting tempest—they...
