KODACK BLUES
Up above me is an empty sky
Tonight, I miss you, but I cannot cry
I’m travelling like an explorer’s ship
I forge a smile but don’t give a flip
Nighttime calls me and I wonder why
Do you see me drifting
Don’t I look so sly
Neon lights give me sights to see
And nobody can play a fool like me
Heedless hours on the telephone line
I’m doing well, hope you’re doing fine
As we sit with our hearts intombed
Feeling nothing but impending doom
Forget the passages that turn to dust
Remember love is larger by trust
Am I a wounded warrior in a useless war
Running fast to catch my falling star
Muddled in my memories with my heart on fire
Can’t stand the truth so I settle for desire
All we settle for is less than life
And we’re looking at time like it’s got a knife
Tonight, I miss you
But I cannot cry
Up above me is
An open sky
DENVER 1992
Categories:
intombed, absence, betrayal, missing you,
Form: Rhyme
When I can see all that, you've done for me
I'll see the enemies you've slain so I
Could walk a path that's lets me now be free
When on the cross you died at Calvary
Then three days and nights you were intombed
On the 4th you arose in life anew
This price it let eternal life resume
Because Messiah paid this price That's due
He shed His blood that was so free of sin
He gave me what no other one could give
So I could one day be a part of Him
Now I know what it's like to really live
For now I have all of eternity
When I can see all that you've done for me
Poem written 05/21/2022 for the Orphan Sonnet poetry contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Categories:
intombed, appreciation, jesus,
Form: Sonnet
The white rabbit died,
it was suicide,
his work had failed,
his aging tale unwound,
unbound and lost,
winter frost dreams covered,
he’d learnt his lesson,
but from his teacher’s end,
severed.
He warned of watches,
watching watches to discover,
time uncovered,
exposed and closed,
hands intombed in gold,
the pocket watch,
Pandora’s box,
now everyone has several;
and they’re still all late.
They’re late in thought,
of latent thought,
once held in ignorance,
they can’t ignore hands,
the turning tine stabs deep inside,
infecting hearts,
all turning parts,
man made of cogs,
with cogs.
At war with sunset,
refusing sunrise,
natural cycles forgotten,
of greedy madness begotten,
flawed and false;
they wither to the void of innumerable cloned tick-tocks...
©David Nickle Read 2015
Categories:
intombed, time,
Form: Free verse