Two-Thousand Eighteen

Two-thousand eighteen

Clicked in

As the Doomsday clock

Ticked two minutes to midnight,

To find beautiful meadows

Turned into slippery slopes

Where innuendo, accusations, rumor,

Trumped law and order and the system

Of things,

Where a white male

Smiling, nodding, acknowledging beauty

Is guilty of a crime somewhere, sometime,

Where fat ugly minds

Join me 2 movements

Of various ilks,

And like the laundry pod eaters

Spit twisted and troubled views

Into the face of the world.

Stephen Nesbitt ©

From “Gravity Sucks”

9:01 AM January 27, 2018


Words throb

Lines dance

Colored by the mind

Of the reader or the poet?

The rhythm hot

As a lover’s cot

Is the poet or the reader


Stephen Nesbitt ©

From “Gravity Sucks”

10:41 AM January 20, 2018