Wild Child
An individual growing up away from the civil,
preferring a society to exist without customs,
having only a slight need to keep learning,
to be teaching,
a human vehicle veering at top speed,
thinking it is living life to the fullest.
Using the barter system to temporarily
be part of an ad hoc group,
gathering, springing, howling.
A wild child,
driven by curiosity
to understand a sometime program,
thinking as others do
only for the novelty of the theme.
Dead Or Not Dead
In the aura of a Tuesday morning,
on a bed which sets the stage,
lies a still body covered under a thick quilt.
One experience might be that
this body is giving a sad performance,
this body showing signs of torpidity
that might hasten the end
as a series of loopholes
for the proper functioning of the body,
copied throughout all systems,
are being allowed to cascade toward destruction.
All bone and muscle,
having endured so many hours on life’s road,
makes the journey back
to fine physicality seem hopeless.
One experience might be
this body refusing an invitation
to death throes,
pouring fire down on death,
his body exhibiting an eagerly seized rallying,
impressive gains of strength returning
from that place
where human power and resilience come.
Either way,
the least fluctuation of the pendulum
will lead to a great story.
Bird Landscape
We enter walls fortified by
disillusionment that belongs to us all.
A distressed area,
where portable gravestones lie prone,
and the silence indicates signs of fatigue
from trying to conceal the purpose of this place,
a retreat into wretchedness
while listening to artless stories from the gravedigger.
But place bird roosts atop these same walls,
and watch the spirits being placated,
observe the enriching effect as time goes on,
as an amazing array of colouring bursts forth,
birthing new keen awareness of these surroundings,
as if seeing this environment for the first time,
projecting a new view of white marble.
View this space as it becomes a living landscape,
a remarkable place,
where birds, hopes, dreams, and prayers can fly.
Iscariot
A broken treaty,
a promise torn in half,
turned away,
can you ever have too much apostasy on your side?
Take the fall,
a roughed up staff,
rather stiff,
the external tarnish of the coins set off a pattern.
Stand your ground,
take the contusions,
in spite of all,
the almighty thinks you’re pretty special.
Demigod
I have the benefit of years,
knowing that failing to gain love brings nothing but tears.
The hazy glams lacking a sense of what caused the off switch,
the catastrophe of level heads, once largely triumphing, now by any measure paused.
I wish mercy on those who
resent the clouds and love the broadly popular tinsel, so it seemed,
while filling out your day,
that rarely spoken reason screamed.
My light shape left unclear
in a world where better news died,
and with a dazzling move
the amusement of a deadly dance leaves you satisfied.
Seemed there were so many at the seashore bewitched by
so much pomp of thunder,
that spread the news saying it’s okay to sit idly like
a marbleized demigod.
I’ll focus on the moving goddess,
then with a less than evil hand, I’ll tear the party asunder.
Nobody is more surprised
than those refusing to discover that they are to be left out of the picture.
I opened a small floodgate
and in the gaping chasms,
lonely hearts have no such power to believe
that looking back would reveal so much.
I hope to inspire because our envy would melt away
if we could remember at all what we take from this life we lead.
No comments:
Post a Comment