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Stygian Witch
I can't remember how this poem was to begin,
so I'll stir up a little agitation,
there's nobody home and nobody's without sin,
thieves are amoung us and steal the pontificating heart
with parochial parody.
Poets, damn them one and damn them all,
damn their inclinations
and exaltations.
Damn their invitations.
Damn their spotted dogs and damn their blind eyes,
damn their truth. Damn their loose lips,
flapping like red sails in the wind.
Homer was an odd ode, may as well have been Greek
to me. I just don't get out much to conquer the world
my posse has been disbanded.
Rodriguez couldn't
strum a guitar and for the life of an Amazonian orchid,
attached to the sky,
I can't sing to stretch my broken wing,
a canary locked up in the gilded birdcage of hell, a visionary
who just can't see beyond the parting of the sea,
writing useless words
flocking and migrating on this empty page.
Editing stage:
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Comments
Nordic cloud
Fri, 2012-02-03 10:34
Amazonian orchid, attached to the sky,
OH fire and brimstone, this will, if stoked enough, fling you into a great wheel of thought that can roll around the world and its flattened leaves and birds, bring them back to life and give them a role to play in your continuing theatre of poetry. Take a wee dram from Ann and get off your throne and dance those damned words until they fair scream in our ears and wake our minds to see what you have brewing in your cauldron of thoughts.
I loved this bit too:-
"Rodriguez couldn't
strum a guitar and for the life of an Amazonian orchid,
attached to the sky,
I can't sing to stretch my broken wing,"
Would love to dance with you Anna.
Love to B too.Ann.
"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.