sometimes
what
we see
is simply
not there
a glittering star
in the sky
that died
centuries ago
but
still offers
a glimpse
of beauty
like
the unquestioning
devotion
in a lover’s
eyes
Original Art Work
bring in the clowns…
political flimflam man
has got
a song
for you
each
word
was written
with you
in mind
not one line
says a thing
but
sounds
as if
it does
there’s no doublespeak
no speak
at all
carefully colored
with emotions
they’re
cotton candy words
so
hurry
hurry
hurry
to the big top circus
of government
where death
for the very young
is not defied
but
part of the act
to a poet having lost faith…
you have forgotten
the first rule
love thyself
as you would another
without that
love becomes
a person
or
object
to be held
and
possessed
not fulfillment
of self
or
even love
of the other
look not
to the horizon
but in the mirror
for what you
seek to understand
that which love
is
and
can be
is
there
speed…
omg
i
h2
make $
&
always
lfm
atm
idk
how
2 hf
tbh
i sit
smh
w/o
a clue
how 2
make
time 4
family
/
g friends
omg
♥ attack
eol
time warp…
Sketch based on photograph by Bruce Perry Crandall
when what time
is left
is unknown
then it becomes
time unmeasured
unmeasured time
requires
that each moment
be lived
as
the last
autopsy…
examination
of the tissue sample
revealed
specialized groups
perhaps
best considered
independent
functional work groups
although part
of the larger body’s
governing system
their purpose
seemed
idiosyncratic
and
carcinogenic
in nature
there was
no communication
between the bipolar cells
that comprised the culture
further examination
yielded startling results
that the body
had only lived
a short while
before the disease
which had been in
remission
systematically
spread throughout
every fiber
replacing
the original
code
with a nonfunctional
replica
that
the body
was unable
to identify
as harmful
thus
democracy
died
franklin…
he was
a part-time
philosopher
and full-time drunk
dispensing
sage advice
prophecies
and
profanity
with the same
propensity
asking
me
on more than
one occasion
while
carefully
balancing
his
brown paper bag
if it’s
true
that museums
have to return
stolen antiquities
to
indigenous peoples
how come
the
gold
ain’t returned
by the
church
muted by time…
soon
the only voice
i have
will be
what’s left
upon these pages
and i wonder
like
every poet
who will read
or
care
that my love
and
life
are here
not in the grave
or
with the ashes
spread
ceremoniously
across the sea
look for me
not there
but here
for
this is
all
that will be
left
of
me
a chalice of faith…
River Urke and I have entered into a duel poetry challenge and this is the resulting poem. Duel Poetry: a prearranged poetry writing challenge between two people to evolve a new poem where each writer must respond to the other writer’s lines (4 -5 ) until both parties agree that the poem is complete.
arise…
Copyrighted Image by John Holmes (http://everchangingperspective.wordpress.com/)
Read Between the Minds 