Poetess- Timothy Tarkelly

Timothy Tarkelly

Whisper and the Roar

poetess Timothy T


I do not fear you.

I have read you,

but with the lights on,

sweating shame,

lustered, wishing

I knew what to do about it.

I drink from your selection,

at your table

until silver wicks flicker,

day’s over,

and I put the book away.

That cannot be enough.


hitherto ignored,

but found by me.

Cherished, absorbed

by me, then sullenly placed —

doomed —

by me into the swollen, pregnant hips

of my backpack,

dragged and beaten,

with zipper scars

and ripped-seam fractures,

compound corners showing clever titles

and wrecked covers.

A book so beautiful,

yet lost to the weight of a text they made me carry

and said not to read you in the first place.


I see you

from a balcony I did not earn.

A torch?

I would pass it.

Promethean matches flicked

to your friends at my stoop.

I’d set traps for…

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