Tyrell Collins’ Poetry

Mar 8, 2017 by

Tyrell Collins’ Poetry



I stand by the seafront,
The sky is—
An elastic band of colors.

I listen from the Quercus Virginiana[1]
The autumn breeze—
leached in the earth.

I look from the mountain top,
to stormy clouds—
swirled like a slumbering giant.

I taste the nectar of—
leafy arugula,
pinkerton avocado,
honey-glazed almonds,
and the citrus of pink grapefruits.

I feel the moist,
of dams, rivers, and lakes,
that cry like sorrow songs.

I am remembering the water’s snore.
I am remembering the wind’s melody.
I am remembering the high bluff’s jagged face.
I am remembering the wetness of tangerine.

A life that glows at dawn.
A life with boundless affinity.
A life that dances in a ring of endless light.

I am remembering love.


It’s the color I fear
she’s brighter than me

at first. Copper, in
red, her curves sway

like a drunk flapper girl
Whatever happens, happens.

Inside the moon
spreads her velvet on satin sheets

and morning clamps
hot but not dry. My heart

is, fox-trotting
I haven’t been that erect in years!

Her skin’s slightly tainted—
a more reddish brown.

The sun burns
she succumbs to the rupture.

There is no moon again

she is dingy like me.
[1]Southern live oak, is an evergreen oak tree native to the southeastern United States.

Tyrell is a Masters of Fine Arts Candidate at Columbia College Chicago and his work has appeared in The Lab Review, and The Dillard Review: a Journal of Arts and Letters.

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