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After the Noon
Under the Train Tracks
Not Just Another Time
Treading the Fire
Five poems by Ernest Williamson III
After The Noon
in the aloe
accosted by the ragweed
in congruence with,
cackle and blandness of your bird songs.
I've overcome the seeds of hate
but where were they?
what lies were in the basalts of my generalities?
if a canker sore fills the bowels of sanguine hurts,
why do I speak?
if a question answers its intent with flaccid way
why do I doubt?
perhaps I'm too adorned in the sunlight.
branded and perched,
residing with aloe;
is my heart;
for you are far from the streams.
Under the Train Tracks
In effervescent blues,
I'm a waterfall.
some vessels pass in the shade next to blades
of doves’ wings
wading with want and languid play.
that's what the air sends from lies.
smog is a fog of life;
a moment of honesty wrapped in squall lines of fine brass tears,
but I'm still a waterfall.
a bad splash lasting for tracks
and changing rifts in hives.
Rings and trills
splats and trash
life and rotten whatever,
air and water;
over the shaved bruise.
I'm still a bad slip of the tongue;
tacit buds of beaded meaning
lasting in the desert,
melding the prizes of cause and effect.
But you won't reach out and touch me.
just gonna stand there and take a picture,
knowing you need to feel something good!
something common to the rhythm you hear.
Under the rust of the marriage bed,
Under the tracks of our
Not Just Another Time
I just like it;
hidden in the seams of a winter rainstorm;
coddling her demanding breaths;
waiting for me to respond with deep unfettered sound;
letting the wind blast the bay windows in our
as lightning imagined
in the poetry of our
cried like sun colored
discovered by that animal expert
who use to come on television
every Saturday morning.
All the while,
careful drips of saltwater were tickling my hairy thighs
as I said nothing
with my tongue;
since words were never
But I did say
something back to her;
because she said back to me
with her eyes,
day is her smile.
night in tandem with a light of purple.
milky blue eyes coated in hazel urbanity;
find me lost and found in the willows nearby.
sing to me,
make love music
as it can be,
for the hearty gasp
of the lonely freckled boy
smothered in literature
not of his own,
as infirmity levels the listless cloudy nights;
only when that lady sitting on the cobblestone
sleeps and assuages the hush of her contentment,
lovely and happy,
all without the bothering nodes
Treading The Fire
maybe beauty will remain an abstract dirge;
a mantra to be ruminated over
like a submerged leek
becoming tender in warm water.
as it seems to me
all as vanished
from our worlds
much poetry has propelled
into the bellowing mushroom cloud
of noxious gas.
Earth has garnished her seedlings
as the trees convulse in 4/5 time
leading scholars to compendious shame;
shaking with violence muttering
to the delight of the spittle
forced out with the saying of it,
but what about me
the documenter of my purview,
what do I make of anything now
I say to myself in this pallid skin,
in these pallid days.
perhaps I should go tell it on the mountain,
given the effulgence of effort
not merely in mind
but of the being
directing my reticent walk
out of a crawling crowd.
Dr. Ernest Williamson III has published poetry and visual art in over 500
national and international online and print journals. Professor Williamson
has published poetry in journals such as The Oklahoma Review, Review
Americana: A Creative Writing Journal, and The Copperfield Review.
Some of his visual artwork has appeared in journals such as The Columbia
Review, The GW Review, and Fiction Fix. Many of his works have been
published in journals representing over 50 colleges and universities around
the world. Dr. Williamson is an Assistant Professor of English at Allen
University and his poetry has been nominated three times for the Best of
the Net Anthology. Williamson holds a B.A. and an M.A. in English/Creative
Writing/Literature from the University of Memphis and a PhD in Higher
Education Leadership from Seton Hall University.