Glow

Green-gold sunlight seeps

through granite clouds, lightening

the gloom for a breath,

as when someone beautiful

appears at a a dull party,

and like the beauty who can’t

be bothered to stay,

then sneaks off again somewhere

as fat raindrops splash the curb

like champagne bubbles

against the side of a glass,

in preparation

for a maudlin toast.

Copyright 2018

T. Allen Culpepper

 

 

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Hawk

So fearless, the hawk
circling higher than I can
look without my head
swimming in a dizzy pool,
but he preys on what
he surveys, whereas
I can only try
to coexist and avoid
being preyed upon myself.

Copyright 2018
T. Allen Culpepper

A Slow Death and Its Aftermath

Who came first doesn’t make much difference.

The more interesting question is who left first,

and when and how. Was it the one who cheated

and then regretted it, or the one who wanted to and didn’t?

The one who lingered too long at the gym to avoid home,

or the one who came in early and smoked weed

in front of the television? The one who fell asleep

on the sofa, or the one one who drank too much

alone on the back porch late at night when he

couldn’t sleep and there was no porn left to watch?

The one who finally walked out the door, or the one

who locked himself up inside? As far as the why,

that’s a pointless question too. They met, they

coupled, they separated, both, as a result,

a little better off, a little worse. Yellow roses

marked the beginning; red ones, the end.

 

Copyright 2018

T. Allen Culpepper

Wake

Drowsy from reading, I stretch out on the bed,

near, but not touching, the cat, who likes her space,

and various pasts and futures fill my head

with thoughts, some welcome, others hard to face.

 

The window, left partially open, admits the wind,

and riding it in, the melodies of birds–

song that trills above the dishwasher’s din;

the thoughts stir feelings too  difficult for words.

 

The approach of spring always creates

unstable emotions that swirl around and collide:

the wish for freedom bound up with the need to mate;

new dreams mixed in with fear that something’s died.

 

My love craves exposure, but I’m wary,

even though you’re just imaginary..

 

Copyright 2018

T. Allen Culpepper