Four Guys

Here are four forty-five year old short poems, and a photo of the woman who wrote them.

John McLaughlin
When Jonathan made his comeback to nature,
even the leaves turned their backs on him
telling the child in Jonathan
that it was going to rain again.

Bobby Fitzgerald
Reap a grass grown of purple seed.
Tear all your pleasures from a single need.
Curry golden things for strangers.
Step around the wisdom of things.
Bury yourself alive in the live grave of the living.

A Pseudonym
When rain strikes, Silverthorn
ventures out into stunned streets
to feel loneliness spring full-grown
violent with beauty
as rain streaks enemy bullets
onto his head.

Sam (I can’t remember his last name)
Sam’s feet grasped earth,
love always walked several paces behind.
Gold-dust clung to his legs
like ice cream wrappers
to the street-cleaners cuffs.

Me1968 3_edited-1


About Diane Weist

First year of the baby boom, ex-hippie who always had a job, born with a raised eyebrow, only child and it shows, occasional painter and writer, outsider. Raging, raging against the dying of the light.
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