Please vote for one of the following four entries.
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It's not the angels
It's not the angels dancing on the
head of a pin
but the devils who chase them
like me
and the insatiable spector
holding the world in place
by pointing fingers
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Poet And A Dark Window
Homely windows piled,
square stacks of stories
glow golden in this kaleidoscope
as I speed south.
Cold apricot fireflies drift
across a blurred familiar reflection.
Only those streetlights needles,
tracing scars in my perception,
and the black ocean between
remains a constant,
while silent silhouettes
dance motion blurred
on the edge of vision.
Who planned those pretty patterns?
Who climbed a ladder to perfect the creation?
Which poets, dreamers, dancers, posers
dwell within those distant pillars?
Who write about this
caterpillar of gems
speeding south?
Carry me home,
lull me to patience.
As long as a destination,
a homely golden glow
awaits at end station.
Inspired by the world is invisible
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butterfly feelings
captured in feathery nets
flutter by my mind
Inspired by the body of work...rather than one particular poem.
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2 Windows
and water, a current trickling
between the pains, each pane
sweating from cold air,
his frigid absence resonating
in the sound of tools, suddenly at rest.
Only windows heard the splash,
the swirl of the leaves as he left.
I watched my fingers stain glass
as emptiness slowly became more –
a still pool, the surface mirrored
with a face I’ve never seen, a voice
that once spoke of ________2 rivers.
Inspired by misanthrope
****************************************************
It's not the angels
It's not the angels dancing on the
head of a pin
but the devils who chase them
like me
and the insatiable spector
holding the world in place
by pointing fingers
****************************************************
Poet And A Dark Window
Homely windows piled,
square stacks of stories
glow golden in this kaleidoscope
as I speed south.
Cold apricot fireflies drift
across a blurred familiar reflection.
Only those streetlights needles,
tracing scars in my perception,
and the black ocean between
remains a constant,
while silent silhouettes
dance motion blurred
on the edge of vision.
Who planned those pretty patterns?
Who climbed a ladder to perfect the creation?
Which poets, dreamers, dancers, posers
dwell within those distant pillars?
Who write about this
caterpillar of gems
speeding south?
Carry me home,
lull me to patience.
As long as a destination,
a homely golden glow
awaits at end station.
Inspired by the world is invisible
****************************************************
butterfly feelings
captured in feathery nets
flutter by my mind
Inspired by the body of work...rather than one particular poem.
****************************************************
2 Windows
and water, a current trickling
between the pains, each pane
sweating from cold air,
his frigid absence resonating
in the sound of tools, suddenly at rest.
Only windows heard the splash,
the swirl of the leaves as he left.
I watched my fingers stain glass
as emptiness slowly became more –
a still pool, the surface mirrored
with a face I’ve never seen, a voice
that once spoke of ________2 rivers.
Inspired by misanthrope
