• David Rogers

Selected Poetry by David Rogers

Photo Source: Piqsels

Wing The world is a simulation and the origami bird is a copy of the blood and feather bird as the paper airplane copies the one made of metal or wood and canvas so what does the world copy? The first feather was made of dreams and ashes of the phoenix. Walnut leaves

flash yellow in late summer.

Look That metaphor about the abyss looking back at ones who dare look into it poses questions--where is this abyss if not already there

inside each who looks

and what do you see there

and what does the abyss

find when it peers at you

and what can anyone do

with answers to these questions

I suspect the abyss

is like the future

it nods and tells you nothing

you could not have guessed

but only beckons

and you have no choice but to follow

When you go outside at 3 a.m.

you feel the quiet lift you

like a pair of wings

The world could be any age

and growing younger every day

To survive meteor crashes

and other apocalypses

dragons became tiny monsters

and learned to fly like hummingbirds

Flying Lessons If you can compare the

subatomic things proton electron photon to all the galaxies that fold space-time to the size of a paper airplane so it will fit in this particular universe and drift like the feather of a pigeon down from the peak of the tallest building almost touch asphalt and concrete then swoop on an updraft back to the edge of the first galaxy-- if you can make that comparison you are ready to converse with gods who often pilot the paper airplanes Sometimes after midnight the only sound from the street is a far-off rustle of folding paper and wings

Town The town was haunted but nobody talked about the hauntings save in whispers in

closed rooms or dark alleys To discuss the secret openly would be like admitting the family had an incestuous uncle or insane parent locked away in an attic So blind eyes were turned to Revolutionary or Civil War soldiers who showed up at

bus stops or park benches Children were warned Don't stare at the ghost it's rude to treat them differently --also dangerous but this last was rarely mentioned Ghosts after all really were like everyone else for the most part usually harmless but if threatened their icy fingers could freeze a heart forever turn blood and muscle to granite leave stony figures

that would age alongside mountains The odd stranger might note an unusual number of

statues around town and locals would only nod solemnly

and assert In this town we respect and honor the dead

David Rogers' poems, stories, and articles have appeared in various print and electronic outlets, including Star*Line, Third Flatiron, and Daily Science Fiction. His collection of short fiction, Emergency Exits, is available from Amazon.

More at Davidrogersbooks.com.