Two poems by Sam Silva

Poems by Sam Silva

HISTORIES OF A SMALL SOUTHERN TOWN

Like those young and ardent tragedies which surround

…summer will come and burn with its fury
about this small city built on a swamp.
It will come and the steam will rise like passion
though such bones ache with enormous fatigue.

Then August will retire to September
where both Moon and Sun
spin orange and huge
about the Haymont’s rustic buildings
aged and restored
to quiet and demure
offices and shops on the boulevard.

But there is a field somewhere
not far from here
and we are the crows of dusk
and of evening

calling out to such sadness
as would fall on the corn
and tobacco
ploughed under
in centuries of smoke

….like a tired and feeble joke!

WHAT HAPPENS WITH OUR GREED

The eyes spasm…and the heart grows sick!
Fingers tremble at the digital keyboard
…our times are lost…our waist is thick
expanding like the universe
from such a universal curse
as trails the denizens of Hell
like blood hounds on a hungry chase

…and worse than these…much worse…as well
in breading decadence and evil
…that kind without a face…

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