Sunday, February 6, 2011

Terry Foote lives near Chicago with his wife Pat and the memory of their departed feline. His father ignited his passion for poetry and his work as a nurse inspires him to write. Terry’s poetry has been published by Long Story Short and The Darkling Magazine. Terry enjoys home brewing and wine making and being spiritually renewed by nature.



The Grim Reaper

by Terry Foote



He lay on a cart

With a fresh scar on his chest

Unclothed with body swollen

We gave it our best


I touch his skin

That is clammy and cold

I gaze at his lips

That unknown secrets have told


I look at his eyes-

No one home

I look at his legs

That cannot roam


I wonder where he is right now-

Floating or flying

I wonder what it was like

Just before he gave up trying


The Declination of Independence

by Terry Foote


Oh Yeah, The rope has broken

Oh Yeah, The sail is torn

Oh Yeah, We’re taking in water

Oh Yeah, We’re tired and worn


It’s over, we’ll never be the same

Can’t keep playing the same old game

Hope is gone, it looks real grim

Can’t go back to where we’ve been


Oh Yeah, The rope has broken

Oh Yeah, The sail is torn

Oh Yeah, We’re taking in water

Oh Yeah, We’re tired and worn


Everything has changed and we’re standing still

Get out your tin cup and fire up the still

Ease, comfort and no concern for tomorrow

Will drive us to the ultimate sorrow


Oh Yeah, The rope has broken

Oh Yeah, The sail is torn

Oh Yeah, We’re taking in water

Oh Yeah, We’re tired and worn


Corporations and their politicians control us all

Lulled into complacency, our eyes off the ball

Those who thump bibles have no fear

For Armageddon is almost here


Naturally

by Terry Foote



I create my own

chasms of craziness


I frolic in fields

of frustration


I traverse the trail

with no end in sight