Category Archives: Poems

“The State of Nature”

“The State of Nature”


Don’t trust the truster.

Yet distrust disappoints
in not

And we’re all
humans, all men
normal, all women wanting

You can’t hoard freedom
and be

A philosopher’s slave once
took this dictation:
My freedom ends where
your freedom begins.

All are enemies,
our only hopes.

When we take
shelter, we

Fear freeing.
But fear more, in the
dark and wild places,
climbing into the
shelter of

-D. M. Collins

“The Question”

I was at a great workshop regarding “the feminine” and femininity this weekend, and got several workable poems out of it. Here’s one.


“The Question”

I was young. I loved.

And so I didn’t ask.
I was afraid you’d fear me,
Or I’d fear your response.

Now I am not young.
And I do not love.

But I would ask.


-D. M. Collins

also at A Rrose in a Prose today: Corey Saucier!

We are so excited to bring a brand new face to today’s A Rrose in a Prose (among many new faces): Corey Saucier!

Corey Saucier

Corey Saucier is a Lyrical Philosopher and a Black Queer Christian Poet, Author, and Playwright.  He is a Los Angeles Native and was a Lambda Literary Emerging LGBT Voices Fellow in Non-Fiction (2011) and Fiction Genre (2014);  and was awarded the UCLA’s Writers Program Scholarship in 2012-2013.

In addition to being an active member of the performing arts community, he is currently a featured columnist in A&U Magazine. Corey is penning his first novel tentatively titled:“Clover” – A dark speculative fiction piece about Fairies, Homosexuals, and God…

He also has a Tumblr (, but it’s mostly just filled with naked pictures.

Come see Corey, and all the below stars, at 2 p.m. SHARP at Stories Books and Cafe in Echo Park!

Mary Animaux
Corey Saucier
Don Kingfisher Campbell
Trista Hurley-Waxali
The Urban Street Poet
J.W. Gardner
Luis Antonio Pichardo
Sarah Gail
Kenzo Martinez
Rich Yap

… plus surprise guests that will AMAZE and TERRIFY you!

We meet in the back, and you can enjoy delicious syrupy POPSICCKLLLES absolutely free, as well as all the Halloween candy that you’re not already sick of! It’s gonna be a humdinger of epic proportions, and to miss it is akin to missing your own mother’s birth! (See? Already we’re throwing out mind-bending metaphor and stick-it-in-your-eye analogies! Come see more!)

OCT. 18, 2 P.M.
1716 W Sunset Blvd, Los Angeles, California 90026


Five Poems in Five Days, Day 19: The Marathon

I wrote this during an exercise on Sunday’s poetry salon at Beyond Baroque, led by Emily Clark.


The Marathon

Religious concepts say love must be pure.
Though secular, you find the concept wise:
to find a love and make that love endure,
a marathon, with life-long love the prize.

And so a few false starts do not dissuade,
life caught coughing in fits, your lungs healthy.
But there’s smoke in the road, and where the path?
Is there a path?

You sprint madly, parched,
handed batons that you cannot drink.

You crumple them and toss them on the green grass.
Like emeralds beneath the grey, it soothes you.
And to your right rise proud cliffs,
and to your left, a river.

And you follow it,
as do the other sturdy
runners by your side.

-D. M. Collins

Five Poems in Five Days #2:


I still have one more day to finish four poems! Here is the second!


lack of armpit hair

pragmatist scoring big in the
black of life’s youth ledger,
I saw no dividend in

what loss to
function! social
niceties impede
fairness trumps

heart. dignity
lawns, office shoulder

being is in doing:
no geniuses except makers of
things of genius.

somehow, the walk towards the
easel became the art.
crooked gait? artistry!

if essence can’t contain
sly pride, courageous shuffle,
energetic exhaustion,
I might never even have



-D. M. Collins

Five Poems in Five Days

Apparently there is some kind of challenge going on in virtual land about writing five poems in five days?

It couldn’t come at a worse time. I’m ridiculously busy, seemingly incapable of transcribing simple interviews I need to present to publications I’ve been writing for; and meanwhile, my day job has gotten harder, longer, and more prone to fatiguing me early in the working day than ever, making writing that much harder.

In short, I needed an excuse to push my ADD to the limit and take on a NEW task! Here’s my first example:


Random I Movement

I wanted to sleep, but
I want a
lot of

I wanted to write, and I

But it was
not as

short as




-D. M. Collins

“Manchester and Vermont” – an exquisite corpse.

In only one hour, we’re having this month’s A Rrose in a Prose at Stories Books in Echo Park! Please attend.

To whet your whistle, here is the exquisite corpse we created at last month’s amazing event. It’s written by virtually everyone who was in attendance, and it goes from dark to political to comic. It’s almost like life in reverse!

Manchester and Vermont - An Exquisite Corpse copy

Manchester and Vermont - An Exquisite Corpse II copy

Manchester and Vermont - An Exquisite Corpse III copy

Manchester and Vermont - An Exquisite Corpse IV copy


an exquisite corpse: “A Slip of Something Clever”

On February 8, our crew met at Stories Books for a damned fine A Rrose in a Prose.

Today we’re having another one, so this exquisite corpse from February is going up just in time, I hope, to whet our appetite for the Dadaist venture we’re oh so soon to face!

Happy Daylight Savings’ Time …


Poem for Nikol

A friend of mine is going through a tough time. If anyone deserves NOT a tough time, it’s her. And yet it’s bad, bad enough to make you think that God is real, and he’s as evil and conniving as The Leprechaun.

Friend, here’s a poem I wrote about you a few years ago. There’s a bit about your oldest son in here, too. I dunno, maybe it’ll make you feel a little better to know I once thought of you and was compelled enough to express my feelings on paper.

I read this aloud once, right in front of you, at A Rrose in a Prose. You might not have caught the subject matter at hand, but I think you might’ve…

Poem for Nikol

P.S. I just realized there is some inconsistent poetic punctuation stuff going on in this version of the poem. I’m feeling too lazy to go back and fix the image. So, friend, I ask your forgiveness.

Liberation Day



Liberation Day


Revolutions fail when they succeed;

Their spoils spoil in glory’s stale heat.

I freed love from debtor’s jail,

And was rewarded with debts.


Tyranny’s cancer will never die.

Till every cell is separated,

cut out,


I scoff as love’s prison guards

Still lock each other in cramped cells;

But where will I sleep tonight?


I’d bomb a million banks to get that back.

But time can’t be pried

from under the fingers

of executed execs,

once so eager to squeeze the throttle

that has no reverse.

They even owned our skill in owning.


I would not own you.

But how you love a uniform.


And so do I.


-D. M. Collins