skip to main
|
skip to sidebar
poetry and prose by stephen chute
Thursday, January 13, 2022
maybe tomorrow
it's natural, human
to always
think we have more time.
and as you flip
to the back page of the metro
section
to review who's died,
you wonder,
what were they putting
off, delaying
for another time.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Newer Post
Older Post
Home
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Followers
Blog Archive
►
2024
(2530)
►
November
(74)
►
October
(229)
►
September
(231)
►
August
(235)
►
July
(224)
►
June
(233)
►
May
(243)
►
April
(218)
►
March
(248)
►
February
(258)
►
January
(337)
►
2023
(3264)
►
December
(285)
►
November
(259)
►
October
(265)
►
September
(299)
►
August
(269)
►
July
(334)
►
June
(297)
►
May
(283)
►
April
(223)
►
March
(295)
►
February
(238)
►
January
(217)
▼
2022
(2882)
►
December
(319)
►
November
(241)
►
October
(215)
►
September
(167)
►
August
(199)
►
July
(209)
►
June
(249)
►
May
(216)
►
April
(269)
►
March
(257)
►
February
(252)
▼
January
(289)
noise makers
summer sand
no better place to be
the back door key
i'm glad you're home
now is a good time too
he feared nothing
blue jasmine
melba toast
feeling crabby
the wild blue sky
south of the border
meet the Beatles
the year end box
the sunday matinee
in the wind
the fifth floor of Bellevue, apt. 506
let it bleed
save your breath
waiting, not listening
that has to go too
reel me in
come on over
the next generation of cats
just flush and play taps
it's too cheerful
my empty vase
stop the madness
cold as a penguin's butt
i am not set in my ways
desperate times
in search of a cover girl
yelp for dating
yellow brick road
we got to get out of this place
it's what i do
talk to the hand
done with trouble
don't take that call
the frayed hem
up before noon
basket in the corner
the mystery of an apple
how life ends
winter team work
closing the window
standing outside the bakery
without gin, even
her rowing across the lake
don't sweat the small stuff
Blink
what was i thinking?
at twenty one
the first time
the body knows
the edge of the bed
be still my heart
where is miss manners?
make it last
trying to get home
not a good fit
sticky notes
don't rescue me
hose water
more light, less dark
the cure for love
childhood things
where things were left
rsvp
in Ireland
go through it
really good reading light
advancing in years
a favorite day
mud slinging
the lemon tree
as soon as you end that war
why don't you answer me
road apathy
we love all people
salt and sand
stretching at the cave door
the easy hack
hang em high
champagne love
my kingdom for an eclair
your God
too much light
the necessary denial
we're almost home
the generous glow
playing the blues
bullied into nine boxes of thin mints
the bull s....market
make your own sandwich
the coldest winter in fourteen years
oh, you should go there, you'll love it
just once would be enough
eight days a week
and now we have this
►
2021
(3094)
►
December
(244)
►
November
(264)
►
October
(248)
►
September
(219)
►
August
(219)
►
July
(221)
►
June
(245)
►
May
(259)
►
April
(302)
►
March
(284)
►
February
(242)
►
January
(347)
►
2020
(2595)
►
December
(361)
►
November
(338)
►
October
(242)
►
September
(200)
►
August
(204)
►
July
(191)
►
June
(132)
►
May
(143)
►
April
(170)
►
March
(186)
►
February
(221)
►
January
(207)
►
2019
(2074)
►
December
(274)
►
November
(233)
►
October
(232)
►
September
(193)
►
August
(190)
►
July
(233)
►
June
(190)
►
May
(162)
►
April
(105)
►
March
(120)
►
February
(77)
►
January
(65)
►
2018
(1224)
►
December
(101)
►
November
(92)
►
October
(52)
►
September
(95)
►
August
(87)
►
July
(82)
►
June
(120)
►
May
(140)
►
April
(84)
►
March
(112)
►
February
(116)
►
January
(143)
►
2017
(1775)
►
December
(171)
►
November
(169)
►
October
(151)
►
September
(156)
►
August
(180)
►
July
(201)
►
June
(122)
►
May
(104)
►
April
(121)
►
March
(123)
►
February
(124)
►
January
(153)
►
2016
(2658)
►
December
(131)
►
November
(160)
►
October
(184)
►
September
(203)
►
August
(256)
►
July
(236)
►
June
(262)
►
May
(262)
►
April
(272)
►
March
(321)
►
February
(174)
►
January
(197)
►
2015
(1839)
►
December
(153)
►
November
(144)
►
October
(127)
►
September
(113)
►
August
(137)
►
July
(134)
►
June
(160)
►
May
(161)
►
April
(151)
►
March
(185)
►
February
(176)
►
January
(198)
►
2014
(2208)
►
December
(210)
►
November
(198)
►
October
(195)
►
September
(274)
►
August
(256)
►
July
(178)
►
June
(173)
►
May
(146)
►
April
(160)
►
March
(147)
►
February
(134)
►
January
(137)
►
2013
(1558)
►
December
(99)
►
November
(106)
►
October
(122)
►
September
(103)
►
August
(98)
►
July
(122)
►
June
(156)
►
May
(114)
►
April
(139)
►
March
(131)
►
February
(161)
►
January
(207)
►
2012
(1846)
►
December
(195)
►
November
(196)
►
October
(221)
►
September
(139)
►
August
(165)
►
July
(158)
►
June
(159)
►
May
(154)
►
April
(122)
►
March
(130)
►
February
(114)
►
January
(93)
►
2011
(1420)
►
December
(71)
►
November
(79)
►
October
(101)
►
September
(112)
►
August
(96)
►
July
(109)
►
June
(114)
►
May
(139)
►
April
(135)
►
March
(143)
►
February
(134)
►
January
(187)
►
2010
(1401)
►
December
(171)
►
November
(153)
►
October
(92)
►
September
(113)
►
August
(137)
►
July
(177)
►
June
(157)
►
May
(126)
►
April
(69)
►
March
(83)
►
February
(67)
►
January
(56)
►
2009
(230)
►
December
(46)
►
November
(42)
►
October
(46)
►
September
(60)
►
August
(36)
About Me
Stephen Chute
west springfield, virginia, United States
these are all FICTIONAL stories and characters and are in no way representative of any real experiences in my or anyone else's life. any similarities are purely coincidental, except for the dog poems.
View my complete profile
No comments:
Post a Comment