Tag Archives: poetry

WAYSIDE


WAYSIDE

the worst ones
that fell by the wayside
had to be poets

what other conclusion
can we come to?
what wealth do they bring
unto themselves
and unto all of humanity

with words and lines
well beyond the general reach?

I think about
why this
    should be so, plainly
it seems to resist explanation

this compulsion to
act otherwise, play
in a different key
sing
   a different song

so far beyond my comprehension
I have to reach for
the oddest of all metaphors
to get my head around it

AND TO LOVE

AND TO LOVE

danced all night you did
first meeting and me
not yet
on the agenda

I suppose I must feel glad
you contrived to shut
every other option out

don’t know what it would feel
like right now
never to have been conceived
never have to come
into existence

never to have encountered
the day the dancing stopped
ground to a halt
    eventually dead in
its tracks
   and me and my siblings
left wondering
if this is what time
and children do
    to passion, and to love

OUTSIDE

OUTSIDE

living
in metaphor

living
outside of time

do angels
like tachyons
dance
   backwards

have they seen
your future before
you were born?

can you pack more of
them on the point of
push infinitely more
of them
   through the eye
of a needle
than an equivalent
mass of
Higgs bosun particles?

and all the bad that you
spill or contrive to
in your
little life narrative

do they dissect
to last recurring decimal place
or simply erase?

EMILY

EMILY

those serial killer eyes
that butcher’s smock

dead give aways
told you are a poet
I would have put
good money on
you writing
thus exactly

your writing desk an
abbatoir
where you carve and cure
your fillet steak
cut thick or
thin, made
to exact measure

horrible and gorgeous
how when I read
a line
I can taste
the bloodwould you like your

poetry rare, Sir, or au
tartare

the potatoes, greens,
well these we can give you
done well done
all the way from
crunchy crisp
to
rock hard

sweeter than sweet when
you sing
the soul’s dark song though

solitary in the darkness, none
so intrepid as
to join, let
alone sing along