Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
I, rebel I, a rebel of no renown, Offspring of a roll of the dice In a back alley where time was short And ecstasy trumped the sound of The bell tower that rang in the church; A rebel who Continue reading I, rebel by Gary Orphey
dumb bastard His name was Jim he was a man who only wanted one thing in life his woman she was a tramp a good looking one, but a tramp like a jockey she put on her silks saddling him Continue reading dumb bastard by Gary Orphey
My Sisters Bones Who knows where my Sister’s bones may be? Ocean currents and heavy seas surround them now Holding them much more closely than they were By those who feigned love for her when she lived. Her marrow dissolved Continue reading My Sisters Bones by Gary Orphey
Someone Has to Say It Someone has to say it, It might as well be me. I’m a dharma bum, A Bohemian born too late’ Much more suited to a life Among the back streets of Montmartre or Montparnasse, Lost Continue reading Someone Has to Say It by Gary Orphey