Maxwell’s Poetry Corner

November 24th, 2015  |  Published in November 2015



He introduced me to his son.

He was enamored.  In awe.


When he introduced me to Jennings,

procurer of me and D’s first dance –

front stage – our wedding night,

his eyes reflected enlightenment.


When he introduced me to Black Rebel,

I believed him that it was real rock-n-roll, baby.

It is.  I’m howling at the fault line.

There aint no easy way out.


When he introduced me to being a Christian,

outwardly, unafraid to believe,

I truly believed I believed.


As innocent bolts

we politely loved women.

We put Fear and Hatred in a guillotine,

chopping them like onions.

We had no bias.

We had only bias.

Our hatred was surely forgiven.


When introduced to adult-experiments;

alcohol and marijuana:

he was a spitball

glued to a church light.


When on scaffolding helping paint my mural in winter,

icicles hanging from the bars,

the LandMan requested we help move broken glass;


his gloves didn’t match,

and the heater was going to explode,

and he was a mumbling pillar


when he couldn’t paint orange.


When I decided to end contact,

he baffled.



Prey Hunt



In her pink dress

dusk stands above us like a gavel

anticipating the innocent bang.


Her breasts drip

innocent clouds – puffy, wily,

unbreakable and moved


by force of invisible.

Invisible: always an argument

for and against faith.


As her fabric stains deep

blue with the fascinating spinning

of our rock,


a hawk glides like a gladiator;

circling the small arena.

Attentive eye.


Prey not praying,

briskly unaware,

reveals herself open.



Painting Cement



Noticing the sloppy squares

covering artwork

on soundproof highway walls,


rollers slapped by city workers

in the brisk winter where breath

floats like misty clouds,


I laugh how the squares,

the rectangles are more dangerous

than that which covered.


Why distract a driver with common

shapes when so easy to match

the color of cement?

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