poetry by Ralph Pullins



Your voice is a whip
Laying white fire in bleeding lines
And when you pause for breath
I hiss through clenched teeth
Yes, Mistress
Yes, I would like


Sonnet #3
Standing On The Rooftop, Facing West

When I fell, I shattered, I broke and bled
Shiny bright pieces, fodder for the crows
Scattered by the wind, hidden while I fled
Waves rise and crash, the tide ebbs and it flows

Move inland, away from the splash and spray
Up on the roof at sunset facing West
I will die but it will not be today
Before waves tumble and roll flat, they crest

I haven’t seen the Pacific in years
Now living my life too far from the sea
Having fled jagged edges and my fears
Spread my arms, now wings, the wind sets me free

The land disappears, but it does not end
I heal, I grow, I dream, I live again


Ralph Pullins is much happier and more well-adjusted than most of his writing might suggest. When he is not busy writing lies for fun and profit, he lives and works in suburban Michigan with his brilliant wife and two sons. His first novel, Antiartists, is available from Pen Name publishing, and he is currently cursing at/editing his second, working title Flagg. You can read more of his scribblings about writing and art and life at ralphpullins.com. He is very interested in hearing from readers and other writers and what they think about life, the universe, and everything, so you can also email him anytime at dissent.within@gmail.com. Support independent artists. Support independent art.