Three Poems by Richard Dinges Jr.
from Walton, Nebraska
Image courtesy of Pixabay Self Reflection Somewhere buried in gray cloud folds a face forms. My idea of eternity looks out from sky’s hall of mirrors. I look back at myself looking down. I pretend I am mightier than my own imagination, then slowly merge into something more. An icon plastered to ceilings where no one looks up becomes my mirage. Haunt A shadow in my own home, I fade into corners, float on motes of dust and twinkle on rays of sun in late afternoon, my breath a draft from gaps between window panes, until she lifts her eyes toward my thin wan face, smiles briefly, inflates me back into my mold, and we embrace anew without touching. Clarion Trumpets echo, emerge from digital waves. A blur of ions bury lost souls under tattered flags and bloodied hats. Small birds with tiny brains tweet large words no one understands. Dark clouds hover over a lost horizon when we turn to look the other way.