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.



a black line


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


as a lifetime of ice block sorrows that

collapse onto toothpick

shoulders that bend to



Now I know why the rain waits.

This prickly breeze that dips

and swirls and papercuts its

way across bloodless




a black line




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



I want to know that more again




with such a treasure chest

it would be a shame to arrive



where feature-rich and feckless

as a future could be, and beckoning




a black line

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