Author Archives: Kurt Olson

About Kurt Olson

I think, if I get my own slice of heaven, the creeks there will flow with whiskey, and the birds will whistle tunes from Bruce Springsteen's "Nebraska." I write poems

Sorry Excuse of a Bird

3030 header 20150331-01



A quail can't really run
but shuffle like a drunk
toddler chasing an ice
cream truck across the street.
It can't fly, either, so
instead it does this thing
that sounds like shuffling cards
underwater while it
coos with this wax-paper-
over-a-comb timbre. Continue reading

Four Poems – Kurt Olson

red-dress

The Color of Desire

Red dresses hang in closets wondering when they'll be worn again,
but her shoulders are too tight and toughened to glide a strap across:
red wine half drank, one untouched plate of ravioli in white sauce,
a newborn child screams next door, a tapered candle burnt to the end.
Red lights outside flash green and back, and, before she can make a move,
she is 40 and calls it 80 and doesn't open the blinds:
red sunsets, kisses at the nape of the neck, when a lover finds
your hand in the dark. She fights to forget some things a dress can't soothe.
 Continue reading