On poetry..

>> Tuesday, March 21, 2017



I admit there was a point of time
When life could have unfolded
Like a poetry
In the divine discontent
Within circles of smoke rings
Sipping periwinkle wines

In the same way that we gather
Clipped goose feathers
Stained in crimson ink
Year in year out
For when the ogre smiles
Grin back at him

I fear the enchantment of words
Is too great for a poet
Cross-references, clutter
Turmoil in a forsaken brain
Doomed heart -
Ligatures of lifetime

Get injured, repine
Flip the stagnant sun
Verses spatter in sunset colours
Blotting the paper -
The grey-moss fragrance
In pink vapours  
Caressing the slushy sky

At this juncture of life
I am content with
The insipid world
Learning iambics
Exculpating muses -
Wineglasses on my table
Filled with ice-cold rye



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