When I Die is a poem written by Greg Powell

When I Die

When I die It’s going to be a sky like this. Climate change warm December with subtle chill pain and soothing narcotic breeze. An open sky, grey waves upside down. Soft cloud shroud spread over closed eyes lifted in prayer.   If you enjoyed this poem, you may also enjoy Midnight Calling.

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Midnight Calling by Greg Powell for the Poetic Experience at Being Hueman

Midnight Calling

i hear in peace of sleeping winds in the dark stillness i hear hymn of the waters stormy waters wood hull creaking underneath snap of whips beat of blood dripping torrent of tears sky crying funereal moans spirits screaming beneath hull and from deep waters and I hear the call from distant east prayer shouts ancestral tongues beacon light touching […]

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Weekend in the City by Greg Powell

Weekend in the City

Weekend in the City conversation sparks the night. tummies tremble with laughter. spicy gossip dishes, whispers of secrets and secret love codes. inside peeling walls of lenny’s brownstone. brooklyn din intrudes chatty love commune voices heated by vodka and distance closed between friends. car horns from Eastern Parkway curse dangerous tones. fire crackers pop and retort. our laughter sings new […]

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Orion's Constellation by Greg Powell

Meditation on a Diamond Sky

Meditation on a Diamond Sky My friend Orion climbs the sky We have communed since Baby eyes first opened Received ancient canopy Of rays more ancient than pyramids More ancient than earth and sun And many worlds and stars born and dead. I wonder and wander traveling space ways in woke dreams listening for dance and music of life on […]

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A Catch by Greg Powell for Being Hueman

A Catch

A Catch worm wiggles impaled as hook flies on line over river. lands in bursting droplets. bobber rises dances on surface in synch to rhythm of undulating river waves. river song. cricket calls. bird chatter. breeze like woodwinds swaying audience of leaves to applause. waters flowing through ancient glacial earth scars. bottom-soil whispers. suddenly, liquid aurora borealis splashes in soft […]

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Billy Branch and Sons of the Blues by Greg Powell

For Billy Branch and Sons of the Blues

For Billy Branch and Sons of the Blues seventh sons of seven sons of seventeen sun sultans of seven suns be Sons of the Blues. mirrors crawl along black walls broken by lavatory doors and pathways emitting garden of fried scents conjured in the kitchen and windows open to midnight desolation of east 79th chandeliers drip spots of electric lights […]

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