Short Misanthropy Poems

Cups thrust high, A diving umbrella licks at many fingers, 
rose water licks - and seeks our elbows for a plunge and gathering below. 
Now echoes the trumpet prelude, a brilliant flash of praise, 
almost a ritual proclamation. 

It matters none friend whether you're pro or con.
-When has it ever?
Let us climb the high sun groping forest, 
and consume together with glee split faces, 
the sloppy viscous sex of misanthropy and philanthropy....

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I breathe grey air in spaces in between,
And whisky stings my tongue and bides the time,
In steps I aimlessly record the scene,
And cherish my misanthropy sublime.

Wandering the streets and alleyways,
Of this downtown, wherever I may be,
No need for love suffocating my days,
Alone but free to lie with honesty.

I let my flanerie in verses sing,
Excited to report that everywhere,
The happy tattered P.I.G. is living,
“The great imperative” of Baudelaire!...

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Cups thrust high, A diving umbrella licks at many fingers, 
rose water licks - and seeks our elbows for a plunge and gathering below. 
Now echoes the trumpet prelude, a brilliant flash of praise, 
almost a ritual proclamation. 

It matters none friend whether you're pro or con.
-When has it ever?
Let us climb the high sun groping forest, 
and consume together with glee split faces, 
the sloppy viscous sex of misanthropy and philanthropy.

Written by my husband Thielus.
A. Green...

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