Tom Pescatore can sometimes be seen wandering along the Walt Whitman bridge or down the sidewalks of Philadelphia's old Skid Row. He might have left a poem or two behind to mark his trail.
His first novel the Boxcar Bop is available now from RunAmok Press.
Tom's blogsite, A Magical Mistake
•
► Tom's microchaps & selected poems are available below. Just click on the title to download.
|
Origami Microchap |
Selected Poems |
|
| Who Owns these Trees? | ||
|
Click title to download PDF microchap
Cover art by Lauri Burke (coyote added by JanK) • (Set printer for landscape) |
Why I'm not Coyote he walk with belly face the ground
hitch in step slant smile tongue wag long shag hair eyes to grind see road roll I've no story of Coyote man
I got no place; no past. land had shackles before I crossed. only heart is here my own who knows from where I've come. Coyote is not Buddha
but friend to Buddha man maybe I am not Coyote sure maybe I am Buddha then if Buddha were American maybe he'd be me too but then like Coyote say he could also be you |
Who Owns these Trees? I am not quite sure
who owns or manages these trees. they are nice.
I am not quite sure
who manicures this forest
it was incorporated long ago.
I am not quite sure
who has planted these seeds
they are biologically engineered.
I am not quite sure
who to thank
for the fences that surround them.
• Tom Pescatore © 2019
|
| Meetings | ||
|
Click title to download PDF microchap
 Cover: Picacho Peak, AZ
by Tom Pescatore
*
|
Past Year a backlog of memory
to sift through, an open bottle, empty, left out in the sun, tinted shadow green and long thrown over wood surface faded imperceptibly, like years, now gone. •
Tom Pescatore © 2015
|
Meetings Met an Amish girl on the subway.
She was drinking coffee. Had on a white bonnet. We didn't say a word to each other. Spoke in glances. There weren't many of those. Maybe none. She got off at McPherson Square. I stayed on. •
Tom Pescatore © 2015
|
|
Click title to download PDF microchap
Cover: Author in the Rockies
•
|
WV Stars At edge of road
big dipper casts points
down on you and awww you gotta look up, man, up into those stars & focus, you'll see it moving toward us Heaven, I mean, and know Every star is older than me, and I am older than the universe, I've gone too far tho too far to call back, to be heard, and my voice is frail now, human. who watched the stars before we were born? Why have they drifted so far away? •
Tom Pescatore © 2014
|
The Unpublished Poem At edge of road
I worry about them,
scratched in pencil,
sitting still, marks fading,
written in short hand,
edit lines, circles,
little notes aging,
meanings lost to time,
what was I trying to say
two years ago, where
was I when I was walking
Passyunk as the sun set,
where have I gone since then?
I'm afraid they've lost their meaning,
that I've traveled too far
to go back to them, that they've
been wasted on nothing,
left to die anonymously,
left to die ignored,
on my book shelf,
alone.
•
Tom Pescatore © 2014
|
