Five Poems by Chris Bullard

Amaryllis

 

The green hood

discarded,

 

ungovernable

petals,

 

openly

crimson, 

 

burst

in rapture

 

deranging

our view of a cold city. 

    

 

Orpheus Famous of Name

 

Dance floor

ecstatic

 

fangirls lip-synched 

his sorrow,

 

channelling

god pop

 

to a slaughtering

drum beat

 

before ripping

him apart.

 

 

Alice in Analysis

 

This gentlemanly

white hare

 

swings

a pocket watch, 

 

and by

his soft voice

 

coaxes her

into falling 

 

down a hole

to see mad things.

 

 

Ghosts

 

I was vague

with my lovers,

 

never quite there

for them.

 

Constancy

wasn’t what

 

I needed.

Strange how

 

memory

weds me to them.

 

 

Household Objects

 

Over time,

you lose

 

items,

as eight wine glasses

 

diminish

to six.

 

Plates get smashed.

The table’s set

 

for just one

instead of two.

 

Chris Bullard is a retired judge who lives in Philadelphia, PA. He received his B.A. in English from the University of Pennsylvania and his M.F.A. from Wilkes University. Grey Book Press published Continued, a poetry chapbook, in 2020 and Moonstone Press published Going Peaceably to the Obsidian Knife, a chapbook of environmentally themed poetry in 2021. Main Street Rag released his poetry chapbook, Florida Man, this year.