Dance of Words
There it is again
the flow of potty-mouthed confabulations
expose the dictionary in quick disintegration
is this the why speak in incubation
the where withall of today's conversation?
Like inundated swamp terrain
after the fall of torrential storm-tossed rains
the future looks quite mundane.
Take me back in time more enchanted
to the simplicities of children and their banter
let the dance of easy spewing be words
the innocence of childhood still heard.
The dance of words should be melodic
easily a-waltzing and sashay of logic
to discuss the encounters of every day, less spasmodic.
A terse verse
on words unrehearsed
defining us in the universe.
...
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Categories:
confabulations, analogy, silly, words,
Form: Verse
He Clapped For Us All
He Clapped For Us All
he could clap like it hurt his pink palms,
regarding us with sacred consideration
promises, words, meaningless, bland,
creations for every special occasion,
words waving like proud embattled flags
and he might rub noisy skin on cold hands,
like desiccated snakes in brown paper bags,
before describing some special acquaintance
yes, confabulations will fly to beat the band
and I, a child, supposed he smelled like laundry,
this holy man privy to the grand plan
with his coal tar soap,
black shoes so polished for Sunday
and we will sing like we mean it
sing with a singular
sing in the plural
sing for life, for death
sing against roof and wall
we sing, wise and fool
while he clapped for us all
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Categories:
confabulations, words,
Form: Rhyme
Sum Total
The sum total
just breath
on glass
vials of substance
and substantial
dust on shoe
your thoughts
your softness
like rubbed edges
Blurred memories
its sum total
measured or
spent
while you
cautiously
frown
while smiling
Crying
graciously honest
believing honestly
confabulations
as lines writ
erased
forgotten
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Categories:
confabulations, allusion, solitude,
Form: I do not know?
I'M Bored
He could clap like it hurt his pink palms
and regard us with sacred considerations
Promises, words, meaningless, bland,
created for every special occasion,
Words waved like proud embattled flags
Or he might rub noisy skin on cold hands,
like desiccated snakes in brown paper bags,
before describing some special acquaintance
Yes, confabulations will fly to beat the band
I, a boy, supposed he smelled like laundry,
This holy man privy to the grand plan, with his
coal tar soap, his shoes so polished for Sunday
We will sing
like we mean it
Sing with a singular
Sing in the plural
Sing for life, for death
Sing against roof and wall
We sing, wise and fool
While he clapped for us all
...
Continue reading...
Categories:
confabulations, memory, religion,
Form: I do not know?