Sam Silva



End of a New South Story


Wind away from the knotted spring

...twisted wire

and nerves on fire


...let's dissipate to smoke and ash

and buy some booze

and drain some cash

on pleasantries all cheap with smiles


...till lingering in the trailer home

we warm the last few days of cold

till Spring comes like a crucifix of peace


and we grow toothless wan and old

...our few hairs left,

all slicked with grease!




Crosses Made of Plastic


The human who would lead us

is full of shallow rage!


A dull depression

the feelings of an endless age

spent in Hells furnace

in Stalin's Siberia


but really just an air conditioned apartment

in a rented house or trailer

where the cell phone or TV

is the company such fools must keep


...who failed to find the source

of simple sweet humanity

in this map without a compass

in this jail without a jailer

or communion like divorce


flying in the face of it

toward that which was prophetic

in ruin quite pathetic



We are weaker in the mind

than the weakest kind of force

whose commercials make us blind

till we finally fall...asleep!



Sam Silva © 2018