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Of Blind Cocks

Of blind cocks that crow at dawn Dyeing, drying on the thorns of humanity The Blood of non-creation and criterion of a nation insane Inhumane and decimates to the red strains of Children’s games Glory and praise the ascensions of one The sum of masculinities abortion The burnt image of the aftermath. Go and see the walls of None The tribunal of dung Crown the one-eye worms Anointed in rotted empires Furies scurry and bury the thoughts Of lace and grace the masses of fame and shame The brutal pyre of human’s creed, the immune one The dyeing, drying of the horns of cruel black sons The burn of dark hands The blood of divinity The nation Is at war with profanity. Sanity What is humanity?

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L Milton Hankins

Date: 4/25/2021 2:15:00 PM

Jehiel, I am not sure I understood a tenth of what your poem is about...I just know it is awesome. Your lines call up such rich imagery, and your poem flows smoothly from the first word to the last. Good work!

Poet Tellaferro
Date: 4/25/2021 3:48:00 PM

Thank, some times it just about the words, imagery and feelings. A Rorschach test in words with a dash of Dadaism a RAOUL HAUSMANN if you will in written words. But that puts my nonsense to high on the totem, I just love imagery, words and emotions...