Poem By Todd Garland

When we who dream in subtle greens,
awaken to the black of things—
a smile upon a faceted mask,
cries within the simple breast.
Victor, victims phantom limb,
visage veil a dying djinn—
or eye imposter to simmering soul,
manifold mind mathematical.
Then time will dwell where morning dies,
and laughter cry the southern sky,
curtain know that window lied,
and adder in an attic hide.
For envy's green will not be shriven,
of addicts angst, a gift ungiven.

Comments about Thanks

Oooo this is a bit like doing mental gymnastics. I enjoyed the story.'curtain know that window lied, ' Now who would think of doing that? that line has inspired me because it opens up a whole new way of expressing emotion, and I think I'll borrow that concept and apply it to my own work. The possibilties are endless! I like reading your stuff because it makes me think and having got under the skin of this piece, this reader takes away the memory. Thanks Best Jayne

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Other poems of GARLAND

Boys Dream

Sleep’s statistical clutters quicken
desiderata of schedules wanting—
hegemony from standings trumpeting
triumph and trophy consummating…


Poems are daemons to exorcized—
things without names, unthings named.
Poems lurk in primordial sea— the deathmute

Five Folded Fluno

What if my name was Marco Fluno?
What if I drank a flagon of ouzo?
What if I flew to the moon’s o’Juno?
Would you go with me then?

Extreme Ursine Unction

A stony eve at the Bedlam Ball,
An ursine scene entrancing,
As all about the charnel hall
The bears they were a dancing.


Would you eschew what a shoe might construe?
Does it sound from its sole, task with its tongue,
is there puppetry where its strings are strung?
Do its eyes cast evil, is its heel well-heeled,


Haunted…floor frequented,
my mother is dying...
alone all by herself.