Return to belief, clay sculpture with a spark burning like an eternal lamp, Return swift as a swallow; Cease to disregard the magic mirage in the mirror of your inner soul as one of many — Recognize it as the surface of images. Remove those rose-tinted glasses through which you see miracles performed…
On Target (for Orioles)
The glacial shift of seconds snaps taut against the sky, a cutting edge on target — sunlimned and scream aslice, my silhouette races the razorback in chosen golden flight for a matter of minutes — moving in an eggshell crack, the edge of the world.
Questions about omens
Say, where would omens be if there were none to see and recognize signs? Do omens bind? Apart from those who believe there can be no reprieve from the foretold fate, are there those who animate a prophecy till it is tangible? Or is that the fate of the gullible? Tyrone Graham for Poetry in Form.
Maybe the day To cast aside and blow wide Pride that will not last, Past prejudice and the ideas You choose To use in having your way Lay waiting to tear loose, Fuse with courage and stay Strong as long As night at distant poles. Goals may stay as bright As light, but the roles Ways play Turn sour, and all those Opposing change will learn To spurn loyalty to forces Gone wrong, As all who own to no mistakes Forsake the steps to scale the walls Enthralling their stiff-necked makers.