FreeWrights Peer Review™

Please post your own submission or nomination of another poet's work for the October contest as a reply to this thread. Closes at 8 pm September 28. Thanks.

Bills and Yet More Bills

Bills arrive uninvited at our doors
predictable as death or, erm, worms.

Bills! Don't like 'em! Take
'em out to lunch--we'll go Dutch!

Bills on ducks and platypusses,
the joke my grandma told about
Bill Sticker. . . or was it Bill Poster?

Will Bill Hickock, Buffalo Bill,
Bill Clinton. . . the bill you paid
for that Knickerbocker Glory.

Bill Bailey, Bill the Bailiff, the Old Bill,
Portland Bill, Bill the Cat,
Bill Bixby, Bill Blass, Bill Cosby.

Mein Gott! Tot up the bill for that lot!
Rat-a-tat-tat, empty billfold.

Hey, Bills, I'll take a raincheck, ha ha ha!
Oh, mmmmm. Hi, Mr. Death, Bill Collector.

Christopher T. George

Bernard's:


ninety miles


looking at myself from here. inside back out. across a road that never straightened. not
wanting to meet what I’ve become. too many splits and untidy ends – a cat’s life scratched
on pavement. recurring life-dream …dead man’s walking walk …burning these ninety miles…

trees bend prayers, grass outgrows welcome… challenge loses days as night rejects silence.
… dream dreamless dance … burn ninety miles …

smile acceptance half smile
claws rage pages
cracks discovery fingertips
falsely history written
[yes, cool that smile, slice it cool
chill the loss, wash blood in the rain]

years like ribbons
put away for next season’s gift to save time…

another morning shave… hoping for a slip of courage. [thinking…if I could only slice a hole
in the throat, pull out the tongue…feel closer to the sound. I can already see the classic:
“Scarecrow in Bleeding Glass”]. but I only wipe the yearning, smooth the surface to hide
the murder.

the end is the shock that never comes.

calendar figures remind me in nines. ten years curve back of the mind cutting corners into
circles. the room is 10 by 12 & 10 x 9 is 90. formulating a single design = measuring weight
for distance. but Nine stands alone, casting shadows too large to define… remember forget,
forget remembering forgetting…memory scrapes inscriptions on the wall.

promise spits a lion’s yawn
orgasm wriggles in mouse trap
laughter chokes ravens
[shadow-play the part, the sun’s in your eyes!
death pumps out blood
pounds victory on the keys!]

numbers bury the bones
words kill the time…

stolen moments before the parade… muted sounds standing still. midnight dance at the
outcasts ball – burning candles in empty lanterns, a spot in the light turned too far away.
play road warrior, dig asphalt both directions ninety miles… burning the road between the
lines.

Looks like the poems from Chris and Bernard, along with my During the Drought will be our selections. .