The stream (all workshops)
training wheels on bicycles
training bras
training horses
dogs
and children
training citizens to keep
the fear near après September 11
throw prejudice into the money pit
make it yellow if it doesn't fit
cowardice for the pacifist
paltry poetry lines for the disenfranchised
Of days of old, the harpers sing,
of Melegrond, their fallen king.
The time the Calotans were wronged,
and gathered they; a sullen throng.
Naught would lift their great sadness:
as one, they wept in brokenness.
In sullen quiet, silenced, stood
as Nature likened to their mood.
unable
to perceive my own light
whilst in the glow of infinity
I separate my essence into the darkness -
call upon that which I am not -
exist within
illusion-and-a-score of appearance
so I can experience self
and I purposely forget who I am
as it profits me not to know
but, in the stillness of reserve
deathly calm and mute
where quiescence holds solitude
and soundless hush
would resound
with cacophonic clarity
I hear my absence
.
Lying in my bed,
Darkness all ‘round,
A million thoughts pass through my head,
With an eerie lack of sound,
Visions of little consequence,
A homesick mans faded friends,
Lost lover’s stroll by in a motley of shame,
Sights that make no sense,
My waking dreams that do not end,
Sleep comes now,
A shadow grudgingly embraced,
Dawn is just ‘round the bend,
Night follows dawn with unseemly haste,
To bring me back to where it began.
Zachary J. Eakin
slickfest
from the dark heavens
coiling on nights arms
juicy dream while my
pulse waits on trigger finger
I think of you home
and swallow all the pain
CANTICLES AND CANTICLES
Canticles and candles
litanies sweet to the ear
incense like a serpent
dancing in the air
the holy kneel in prayer
mesmerized by the magic
murmuring of mysteres.
“Kyrie eleison”
“Lord , have mercy.”
“Miserere Domine”
“Lord, have pity”...
for we fear.
a wordsmith
true
fluent in argument,
disdain, and the king's English
humorous and entertaining
yet, wryness, wit, and whimsey
(adorable little playskool tools that they are)
cannot, in and of themselves,
construct substance
a wordsmith
fine
but as far as being a writer,
we respectfully decline
to offer a bid
that being said,
it's apparent you've been called
but regrettably
not chosen
Hanging paper…
They hang paper from white washed bill boards,
then string their words together like barbed wire.
Allowing them to ingratiate all subliminal hordes,
trapping those with an awareness in it’s quagmire.
The leaders have rolled inside their cosy webs,
finding comfort as opposed to our terminal terrors.
We as citizens are but numbers, treated as plebs,
blown around on big brothers wind like feathers.
PROSE ABOVE ..removed
POETRY BELOW...remains
There is some reason
for all kinds of madness
some remain dormant
some explode elephantine,
but the fun in remaining anonymous,
lies in the fact
those women call me Honey
and
men take liberties and call me Lovely.
We'll go back to the beach one day,
and I hope that it won't be too long,
to watch the sizzling tourists lay
while listening to some sixties song.
In the salty surf we'll splash and play
then stroll along the wide boardwalk
just as we did on our last stay
when we'd pause and quietly talk.
We'd watch shadows creep out toward the sea
when evening breezes came around
as we sat upon the balcony
taking in the gulls' sad sound.
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