Author: Richard J Tilley

  • Growth Customs

    There is a laboratory on a peacock island too small for merchant ships or flowers like dung weasels too blocked in fortitude to sing father tulip’s praises and scratch their...

    By Poetry

  • Fire without flame in short dress pants

    We all got lost trying to escape there was a mentor who did not retrieve the package but instead, sold his honey for lunch meat and sacrificed angels for frosted...

    By Poetry

  • Center Blocks

    I do not recall What average citizens do When they pause To center themselves When I attempt To center myself There is a constant Interference of blocks Falling and intruding...

    By Poetry

  • love-in-idleness

    hearts refrain from moral laughter symphonies are not doting in lecture halls where no triumph does decry the seldom shifting of spring See: Clarification of the poem

    By Poetry

  • Mark-to-market Den mothers

    Sober cat melodeon trains Fragrant in honey and sugar Sopaipilla merchants docile Hammers tearful in the rain The animals’s theft of mother mood There is no singing to the den...

    By Poetry

  • Stolen Moons for Foster Siblings

    Makassar treasures shipped to Stalwart doting islands Adrift among doctored ports Like lovers in the abyssopelagic Sober moons – brother Sister – White House moons, Stolen for a banquet that...

    By Poetry

  • Sold and Regretful Ceremonial Pails

    There are many scabbard memories Tied to pails on the ground Ceremonial matrimony where the paperwork Is long since documented by radge secrets And secretaries that warned you Against being...

    By Poetry

  • Previous Incarnations

    Among all previous incarnations We were puppets pulled from dancing strings. Did you not dance in the doorway Within the bleeding channels Of rivers that may? Tied to the last...

    By Poetry

  • Circumstantial Elodea in Short-Stern Withholdings

    Notes on the morning of Nov. 5th, 2024 There is a tattered math to the elements of bodily waste Canadian pondweed tied into the superstructure, for’ard and dreich television nominations...

    By Poetry

  • Bobby and His Grinning Flag

    We all die with the soldiers singing “Me and Bobby McGee” Like a Friday streetlight out In the morning Torrents of sold love to the Minimum bidder Smoldered wet sounds...

    By Poetry