ocean
curtains
dry gloom
combs room
baggage
spilt depths
torn bed
salt scents
footprints
shore fixed
rip tide
swept eyes
hermit
true fit
water
spiller
seagulls
cry, girl
break surf
fracture
Written by a special poet named
Jerry Bolton
From woman I take mysterious crevices
And build from within
I pluck from warm southern winds
Evolving spirits and calming influences
Molding clay comes next
Merging within the framework has begun
The deep crevices pulsate with expectation
I surround this embryo with clear mountain dew
To immortalize
To nurture its beauty
And satisfy its thirst
As it begins to bud and flower
I squeeze aroma from distant, foreign lands
A pleasing scent to bestow joy and smiles
A rod of thorns, sharp
Blood spiller if mishandled
I stand back
Observe my creation
Not quite satisfied
Handling carefully I cup in my hands
The burgundy and crimson hue
Of aurora borealis
Let it trickle from my palms
Onto the folds and crevices
A pleasing flush
Or maybe a blush
Ahh . . .
I stand back still not satisfied
And so I bend
And christen thee with a kiss
Bestowing upon thou a soul of your own
And baptize thee . . .
Rose
©May 10, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton
Of all the fiends I ever knew, the worst was Mack the Killer
Who lived on other people’s gold, a spendthrift and coin-spiller
We all watched as he showered gold on mothers never wives
We saw him fill the tweaking hands of men embracing blight
We saw them never work again, their days turned fast to waste
We saw the good folk tumble down in ever-quicker haste
We saw their souls face in the mire, the spark now smothered out
We saw the men to anger to turn, to cover killing doubts
Not to build, not to think, no hand upon the tiller
They went to their graves hungry ghosts, because of Mack the Killer.
so, this is what life is about
no use to scream
no use to shout
this is what life is about
the cream floats to the top
the top to taste
first
slaking the thirst
of what life is about
but the cream
is but a whisper
the thinnest layer
the body yet good
is mere staple food
and if not used
quickly, quickly
it curdles and splits
knowledge and wits
yet curdled life
is not spoiled
it is an acquired taste
nothing to waste
so don’t pinch your face
at this thickened grace
enjoy every bit
not knowledge but wit
for wisdom lies
where milk spiller cries
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