Introducing
Perry L. Powell

 

Mission Statement

 

Finally, I return

to these shores from which I started.

Now an old man in wet rags

but with a brand new slate

and my stylus in hand

ready to take my dictation

from a life

too full of random events

and fading flowers

for my imagination

to capture.

 

A foolish and futile endeavor this―

as if I could hold the ocean

in the palm of my hand.

 

But I will not be deterred.

The clouds darken

and the grinding tide approaches.

 

 

 

Now I Know Why

 

Now I know why the old seek sunshine. 

 

This unbroken white smoke sky−

so like cotton, seemingly soft and warm, but

really distant and cold and

heavy

as a lifetime of ice block sorrows that

collapse onto toothpick

shoulders that bend to

breaking.

 

Now I know why the rain waits.

This prickly breeze that dips

and swirls and papercuts its

way across bloodless

skin.

 

 

 

Full

 

Here the floating hands before me

promise everything

 

quick as the moment you get a joke

 

I want to fall into you and lose us both

again

 

I want to know that more again

 

hungry

 

with such a treasure chest

it would be a shame to arrive

empty-handed

 

where feature-rich and feckless

as a future could be, and beckoning

 

waits.

 

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