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drift
one snowy night years ago i was driving home and my
ancient classically beautiful ford thunderbird
spun around in a perfect three hundred and
sixty degree direction careening but in a
slow-motion way on slick ice i recall
pleading in a frantic prayer to keep
my car free from collision while
my body was angling crazily
like a crash test dummy
veering dizzily but i
survived
i drove home recapturing my breathing with renewed
respect for god's good grace and my incredible
brush with mortality and i wondered about the
snow that falls settles paints prettifies
and terrifies our universe that never
lets us forget the drift between
life and death between fear
and serenity
Strings From Psycho
Sometimes in dreams
he would sense a stray bullet
whizzing by his head
but there was nothing visible
in that moment
everything translucent as air
In the dreams there would be
a strange sound of violin bows
swiftly sawing through strings
a nagging shrieking stabbing sound
- the strings from Psycho -
bouncing off the shower walls
he would wake up screaming in the darkness
not sure where he was
his eyes glancing down
at his hand
the index finger
perfectly formed to pull
an invisible trigger
Vernon Waring's poetry has appeared in The Writer, The Iconoclast, Alabama School of Fine Arts Quarterly,
Midwestern University Quarterly, New Dimensions, and Anthology as well as on the Prairie Home Companion's Web site.
His light verse has been published in the Saturday Evening Post, Philadelphia Daily News, and WRITE ON!! Poetry Magazette.
His short fiction and poetry have also been featured online in Ascent Aspirations Magazine. He resides in King of Prussia,
Pennsylvania.
Email: Vernon Waring
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