Category Archives: My poems



In that jar
a pent-up bulb pushes
a slow green finger through
a flaky purple pastry skin.
inquisitive quick shoots
root white through water
like twisted light-beams,
quick in the night,
writhing, I bet, in wet ecstasy.
In that jar
a type of time ticks off
slow seconds by the year,
and life is tied up and tangled
In that jar.

No, they are not chains:
there is no prison; only
a slow, green, finger through
a flaky, purple, pastry skin.



December 1968


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Filed under Gardening, My poems, Poetry

Not a poem

I’m sorry.

Just because I’m written
with line breaks,
and with some kind of
attempt at earnestness,
that doesn’t make me
a poem.

I’m sorry.

Even though someone
sweated over my composition
for a full ten minutes
and felt really proud of me,
that doesn’t make me
a poem.

I’m sorry.

However many people
adopt this writing style,
hoping for some kind of
magical transmogrification,
that still won’t make me
a poem.

Will it?




Copyright: Richard Fox 2016
All rights reserved

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Filed under My poems, Poetry