The stream (all workshops)
They refuse to change their stance
Many more Shakespeare’s are needed,
If poets need to flourish
Remove the don’t do this,
Don’t do that tags,
No blog poems,
No comments to be converted into poetry
Are all indicators of idiosyncratic?
Cradled and saddled
As well as saddened minds
Albeit
I am sorry to say so…
A poet in order to survive
Should be like a vast desert,
A vast ocean,
Spread across eternity,
If you want poetry to survive
In today’s limited environment
Statistics.
Statistics don't lie
though the truth is relatively
forgotten in revisionist history.
There were no weapons of mass destruction
no one cut the puppet strings
until someone pulled the lever and he
dangled in the air, breathless and motionless.
Casualties.
Cold the steps of coin..
They sit on cold steps of coin,
undemanding types demanding
an unequal gap in our lives be
closed, we from the comfort of
suburbia sleepwalk to a certain
death not physical, but a stifling
end of thought and dream
un apposed
Killed off by rhetoric from a square
shape in the corner, never hearing
live the speech makers or standing
shoulder to shoulder with a
questioner’s mike.
How I wish I could benefit too,
Just by reading you,
Why have you taken?
A long spell to return
"Where [is] all the midnight oil
[That] you [burned]?"
In alleys and valleys,
Entwined, intermixed with joys and sorrows,
But whatever may have been your plight
Morrow after morrow,
It must have added to your strength
From which I dare to borrow
And your footsteps follow
It was captain Macfarty the head of the party
Commander of ship and of crew
Who ordered “set sail” in pursuit of the whale
That was known as Kahuna Kalloo
It was huge it was quick and its scent made you sick
For it smelled just like octopus poo
It was big it was large ’bout the size of a barge
Though, some people would swear it was two
A slow painful tramp back to my truck
after eight total hours
of being
..still
...alert
....cold
......cramped
.........................luckless
Old knees and muscles fairly scream
as they creak from too much time
...........unflexed
Flashlight shows uneven ground
old stumps, logs, vines and rocks
all anxious to send me home
with another fall
sprained and bruised
Will I never reach my truck?
Didn't see a single deer
But I did see
pure you push the plush persuit
planular perfume perfection
the ovid isolation dream
suspends eclipsed
where two hearts meet
"thats the poison"
you sighed
and I slid beneath the
sleep of windowless skies
kiss us away
this rainstretch morning
with dampness
tinged in murky puddles
circlets of thoughts
falling down
waxing and waning
push and pull
daylight is fading
the moon is full
a pinprick of starlight
from behind her eye
starts to glow
as she starts to cry
her tear in the tide
would not make a wave
for if she is nothing
she's nothing to save
go down to your destiny
to the ocean floor
take a deep breath
and sigh no more.
Sunday morning in the city,
icy pavement, icy street,
bare trees white with winter's white
its silence overwhelms
you wrote a poem about paper and skin,
we play rock, paper, scissors
inside this fairy dust;
in orbs of water,
it is always snowing
it covers and hides us
like bubbles we collide
not long ago,
wild geese
left no impressions, no shadows
for the leopards in the snow,
who are we, always coming and
going?
In the house of Sir Gee, there is much joy
There are ooo's and ahhhh's and many hugs
Presents unwrapped, by each girl and boy
How did you know? He just grins and shrugs
Killer's house is much the same
'Cept the presents a little more wild
Instead of giving the kids those boring-games
There are knives for each boy-child
The girls will get some presents too
Cooking pots, and new recipes to try
Of course, they'll try them out on you
It might be bad, but you won't die
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