Poem for those who dance on the graves of the dead by A.D. Winans

POEM FOR THOSE WHO DANCE ON THE GRAVES OF THE DEAD Hey Jack The Poetry Flash Finally gave you Some space Even if you had To die for it They used your name In the same sentence as genius Funny Continue reading Poem for those who dance on the graves of the dead by A.D. Winans

Blood Moon Blues by A.D. Winans

BLOOD MOON BLUES Strange this trip back in time Not with flesh and blood But in disguise of words The muscles the cells changing Dying and yet somehow surviving Traveling through a warped time tunnel Through an origin you cannot Continue reading Blood Moon Blues by A.D. Winans

Poem For An Unknown Soldier by A.D. Winans

Poem For An Unknown Soldier Now just a fading memory on a blood drenched beach in Normandy flies buzz around you a sand crab feasts on an open wound Eighteen to young to drink but old enough to die faded Continue reading Poem For An Unknown Soldier by A.D. Winans

Under The Light Of A Full Moon by A.D. Winans

UNDER THE LIGHT OF A FULL MOON born at home premature under the light of a full moon I walked the jungles of Panama fed off Beat Mania in the streets of North Beach Shaman poets sang in my ears Continue reading Under The Light Of A Full Moon by A.D. Winans

a.d. winans | terry clarke | for aleksey dayen

Terry Clarke | Photo by Kate Clarke listen to Terry Clarke | Folsom Prison Poem | lyrics by A.D. Winans I was introduced to the work of A.D Winans by our mutual friend, the New York based, Russian poet Aleksey Continue reading a.d. winans | terry clarke | for aleksey dayen

todd moore | pure blood primal: the poetry of kell robertson

Cowboy Poet, Kell Robertson, Outside Vesuvio’s Bar, North Beach, San Francisco, 2001, Copyright: A.D. Winans I’m listening to Kell Robertson sing When You Come Down Off The Mountain. His voice sounds like his throat has been sandblasted raw, gravel over Continue reading todd moore | pure blood primal: the poetry of kell robertson