A Dismantled Poet
A Dismantled Poet
And here I will put agony
Just leave it there on the shelf
And maybe I can ignore it
Let it gather dust in so many blankets
That maybe I won’t feel it
And over here this is where I will put beauty
Though it should be close by and near to agony
Because I can never seem to capture enough of it
Still
The agony of beauty
My word that’s poetry !
Now over there I think that is where I will put love
In a playful cauldron
Right under the feet of agony and beauty
Toss in suffering and joy
Throw in the odd tear and smile
And surround the pot in a wallpaper
Of dieing and blossoming flowers
Perhaps I’ll give the whole mess a stir
Chuck in some sex
And season with need and want
Bake for hours upon hours before done
Oh and here, here is where I will put God
Useless bearded old git that he is
Never once has he answered my prayers
Or if he did, it came attached to some cosmic joke
Of time, destiny and fate
Religion ? Nah; throw that out for the trash, don’t need that
Now where shall I put me ?
Should I stand myself a little bronze figurine
Right atop a mirror top table
Perfect positioning
From there I would be able to look at me and ponder me
Endlessly
Oh… and here is the little blue glass bottle
Where I shall put my dreams
Along with their wishes and a little pinch of love
Stolen from its cauldron
Which is now boiling hot
And right over there in that corner over there somewhere
Is where I will keep anger and hate
Along with their indignation out of sight
And once in a while bring them out for a dusting off
But mostly with knuckles and animate verbs
And where oh where shall I put compassion
And her brother mercy
Should I stash them in the same corner as hate
Or place them in the cauldron of love
Or maybe I should hand it to God
Useless bearded old git that he is
Or hide it beneath the blankets of agony
Or write it in my praise of beauty
What will it be
Should I toss into the piles of greed
And let gluttony feed on its weakness
Always it seems it does
Or should I keep it on my mirror tabletop
So at least I can see it occasionally
Maybe I should take all these things
And put them in a dictionary
Then I could thesaurus them all
To write poetry
Or maybe its just better that I just bundle the whole lot
Into a cat tailed ragged messes knotty knot
And just call the whole thing
Life
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2009
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