Poems from philippanhorst
Let my works speak for themselves for they are a reflection of that which I am: the Piedmont, the old maritime coast, and then the ocean.
A flicker floats upon a crystal sea.
The chilly clear white-caps
Damask a dance of cold intricity-
Beneath the wind that flaps,
That snaps...
The evening was falling
I had nothing to do,
The roads I did roam,
I was far from my home,
And my bike it flew.
The pavement streamed by...
Man is a violin.
A sound so deep and thin
That it shakes one’s very core
Like unseen distant shores
Of sound agonizing
The soul’s frail...
A soul, like a tree,
Can grow
So wild, true, and free
In love.
But if,the rains cease
To pour.
Life fades, hues of these
Will fail.
Branch...
A cold stone moves slowly,
If at all-to anyone,
Lifeless, hard, unfeeling,
An obstacle in their path
Whose existence shall soon
Slowly...