CW Books




Ordering Information: Bookstores and Individuals


Course Adoption


Follow Us on Facebook

Copyright © 2000-   WordTech Communications, LLC

Privacy Policy

Site design: Skeleton

Sample Poems by David Breeden

Hope, Nearly Not There

There’s no package called hope.
Nothing at a shop to look for. Hope
won’t store like hay in a barn. It is a

last leaf on a branch in deep winter.
It is a singular thing, firm when it’s
found—a hand reached out. A word

to the marrow. Hope is fine grained,
like lavender gone to seed. Gossamer,
a moth’s wings. There’s no weight

called hope. It’s a hand; a whisper;
a moment shared. Nearly not there.
But. like a shadow, there all the same.

Leaving Is What I Know

Here's the thing
I made that train

The one that took
Me away from there

Look into my eyes
You see the distance

Just look and you
Can see I'm gone

The Road Always Taken

Most of us have a road
that we imagine, yes?
A road out, unforgiving.

A road away, into loss.
A road that we travel,
willingly or not; a road

that time paves; a road
that we have travelled
many times in thought.

A road out. A road away.
A road we had to travel.
A road of regret and loss.

And freedom, remember.

My Closet Asks

All these years,
I’ve had them—

rolled up tee shirts
for one cause

and another.

All those years,
I lived for them—

I know I did—
my closet says so.

My closet asks
—when will I be

boxing them?

When will I be out
of this place too?

When again will
I have one cause

or another.