The dark canvas sits idly on the crooked easel,
malignant storm clouds threaten the rising sun,
hopeful rays bestow light upon the tortured weasel
that struggles to find reality within the framed run.
Despondent eyes that catalytically impale a presage
for all, that look beyond the innocents of the moment,
eyes that hint of yesterday, yet today speak a message.
A request, a languishing gesture, all without improvement
and transferred to this casual viewer with deadly movement.
© Harry J Horsman 2020
Categories:
catalytically, animal, nature,
Form: Rhyme
Will the well run dry
This think and feel flow?
Or maybe there's an alchemy down here
Catalytically constructing stanzas
Like spiders to kill prey weave webs...
A little spit - that's all it takes
Voila! Another catching verse
But is it too terse
Too trite too cliche?
Touche! A score to the heart
With the epistemological epee
Evoking lovers truths
And could-be living issues.
Is this water fresh?
Come, make us an oasis
Where camel-backed readerettes
Store up their own ponderings greening
'gainst east-winded wanderings driving
A dry thirst through deserts without
Wellsprings of a wet word heard
By travel-wearied women.
And this poetry wadi...
A mirage maybe merely
But perhaps only mostly
Deep weeps of mad me.
Categories:
catalytically, allegory, art, imagination, on
Form: Free verse