Martha Dustin “On March 15, 1697, the salvages made a descent upon the skirts of Haverhill, murdering and captivating about thirty-nine persons, and burning about half a dozen houses.” – the opening line of Hannah Dustin’s story as told by… Continue Reading →
When threatened Blue ballpoints, bin one. Black, bin two. Red, three. Green, four. Purple ballpoints, blue fountains: there are only four bins. Place on floor. Stomp. Scoop. Discard. Frightened, the world careens out of control. God forbid we get a… Continue Reading →
Ode to a Comforter Spirits of martyred geese, beautiful honking shitting machines, haunt my dreams on long cold nights envelop me in warmth. ©2017 Kenneth W. Arthur
Two Who Dare We greeted with the choreography of two hesitant mutts sniffing each other out, surrendering an awkward quick pat on the back and pull away of men embarrassed by intimacy, an almost-waltz at arms length, over before the… Continue Reading →
Sabbath Wealth, bliss, even God elude our grasping while we scurry and scamper as dim dreams retreat. What if we are not the steadfast hunters but the harried prey? In a world spinning relentless chaos to cloak its soul-sick course,… Continue Reading →
The day I heard The glass-jaw day winces from the deep purple of the bruised sky, drops in a heap, defeated.
Something’s Cooking Whether the cook’s stew or the three witches’ brew Place meat in slow cooker In the poison’d entrails throw No shortcuts to deliver us quicker a fine-cooked meal derives from what we know In a small bowl mix… Continue Reading →
What Must the Trees Think? Anger that we lumber their siblings? Terror when the ground we frack? Pity that we have brought ourselves to the brink? Befuddlement at our human quibbling? Despair that they can’t fight back? The willow, bent… Continue Reading →
All Hail the Pandersquat Along the grundle vodamen slither, sprickety sprocks shroud ‘neath the gobblespot and hippity hocks flee the pandersquat passing ghastly as the hoopsnot wither. Rising snuffle thumps have drawn him hither to hoop, holler and blither garblesnot…. Continue Reading →
Under-stars Off the two-track to nowhere important sun retreats into forest, the day kilned and left to cool, no longer malleable. Yet light dominates veil of night: embellished by myth and meaning bulls and bears roam herded and hunted on… Continue Reading →
© 2025 The Timid Poet — Powered by WordPress
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑