What would you
like to do now?
Poetry Archive
All poems copyright ©2010 by Terry R. Bacon. All rights reserved.
- Rainy night San Francisco
-
At Powell and 16th
a doped-up dirt bag
bellowed madly
voice splitting
the air
like flatulence
something ragged
once
a trench coat
hung dripping
around his shoulders
matted hair
wrapped
around his ears
army boots
without laces
whatever
scorched his brain
left nothing but
detritus
- Reflection at Evening
-
The face
staring at me
before bed
floats
above a body
I don’t recognize
hair parted
on the wrong side
like a quarter moon
in a phase
I’ve not seen before
- Number Sixty-four
-
I watch her step quietly
into a room where
the wounded and the
self-absorbed take
stock of their lives
feel the weight of pain
catalog their complaints
silently or not so
chase boredom with
months-old People magazines
or trace the veins on
the backs of their hands
as though solving a mystery.
She takes number sixty-four.
- Walking Barefoot Through My Life
-
I have walked barefoot
through my life,
shirt torn where I hooked it
on a nail,
felt my spine rip, bones cracking
like jagged lightning piercing
a black sky,
- They Are Forty Gone to War
-
Gate D17
The fat man is
annoyed
at his plane
being late
he could miss
is connection
he screams
at the agent
volume being
a great equalizer
his jowls shake
like the floppy ears
of a bloodhound
clearing its head.
- Spring Returns to Abu Ghraib
-
The show begins with riveting might,
rosettes of fire blooming in succession,
thrilling the most jaded viewers with
streamers of red, yellow, orange, and white
A chorus of booms faster than a heartbeat
echoes in the quiet of our living rooms.
By millions we raise our flags to wave
as spring returns to Abu Ghraib.
- I Feed My Voice Shards of Glass
-
I feed my voice
shards of glass
gray gutted tires
steel veins splayed
through split rubber
blades of grass
bent and broken
an ear torn from a doll
- Summer Dreams
-
An army of blondes,
most taller than I,
dance in long rows,
their silky hair and
green dresses swaying
as though choreographed
to the whine and whisper
of songs whistling in
their ears.
- M'aimerez-vous à Paris?
-
M'aimerez-vous à Paris?
au printemps
sur les promenades
où l'histoire tombe
comme une brume argentée
amoureux de glace avec
l'éclat du désir
- The Horse in the Bay Window
-
A pale wooden
horse stands in
a bay window
bereft of rockers
unshod hooves
forfeit of
dignity in a
retirement come
too soon.
- The Empty Space Between Stars
-
A brittle wind blows like frost,
searing turgid limbs to scars,
and I agonize at the cost
of the empty space between stars.
- Mile 11
-
A new tree grows
at mile 11
near the crest
of the hill
rising from the
Maam Valley
marking the place
where in our
surging tide one fell
How to contact me...
Email: terry@terryrbacon.com
Websites: www.terryrbacon.com, www.theelementsofpower.com