Waiting by Harold O. Wilson Black The Model A sits half hidden behind the barn In the weeds half buried it rests No wheels No windshield Back seat gone Front seat in tatters Waiting. By a wire one headlight hangs By grace the other stares down the path Waiting. Watching the boy draw near […]Continue Reading... No Comments.
Saint Marys River by Harold O. Wilson Calling forth her waters from the swamp She eased over me An amber flow Lifting me from the sandy floor To hold me suspended In liquid peace Insensate, pitiless She sought the seams And filled the crevices of my body With current’s rivulets To caress me tenderly Into […]Continue Reading... No Comments.
Rain by Harold O. Wilson Perhaps it was the high calling of the geese their voices dropped through the building clouds that woke me, the room still dark with morning. Or perhaps it was the wind teasing the old shutters. Something—an uneasy dream already forgotten— called me forth to stare at the shadowed ceiling. Then, […]Continue Reading... No Comments.
God Was Lonely by Harold O Wilson In the vast emptiness of His perfection God felt the pain of loneliness Issued from this great longing Came forth the heavens and the earth Waters separated from the dry land Brought forth fish and all the creatures of the sea And God saw that it […]Continue Reading... No Comments.