SUPER BOWL POEM
woke up
in time to hold off
on the SuperBowl result
worst fears confirmed when
I summoned up courage
to check
yep Brock loves God
but Brock loves
Patrick Mahomes
(does not seem
to care much about
Head Coach Kyle Shanahan)
and at this
juncture, out of the blue,
an unruly host of
archetypes made their move
wanted to stick
around a bit, get
the lie
of the land in the process
of passing through me
a mad mosaic it was
for a while
many shapes and
sizes, manners and
demeanours
jostling up against each other
(Brownian motion)
excanging, debating,
doing their
dialectic dance, analysis
synthesis
no homogenizing
and there I was in a carnivalesque dream
chatting to the players in
St Francis’ kingdom
of those elevated
high above
the realms
of material wealth
peering into the abyss that
a philosopher cum psychologist
had laid
before me
a tablet broken with the
entire script jagged
and there on the road
a burnt out humvee
and there in the docks
a rusting destroyer
archetypes at home within
settling
for a game of solitaire
and me
thinking, wondering,
who does have a
prophetic bone in this
my body
is winning everything?
and if it is not
will there ever
indeed
be an end to war?
poems 2 die for 