FALL’S PROMISE
The fall has promise!
And for all of the joys
of folk song and festival,
of changing colors and
lingering warmth, the frosty
subtexts of evenings and mornings
are invitations and warnings about
the seasons of winter – the winter
that is dark, the winter that is cold,
the winter that eventually turns
bright, and that worst of all seasons:
that last lake-effect that is winter
too long!
Do not fight this gift!
Settle in with yourself
for five or six months of
cold weather blues and the
renewal of you!
Categories:
subtexts, seasons,
Form: Free verse
the bottom lines scripted peripheries in a mirror
a headline toppled and reversed time and place
left became right and wrong pretended its centre
denuded illusions spoke in forked shiny tongues
lingua franca became subversive and spun yarns
and the spike of a spindle put wool over her eyes
prologues anticipated an apocalyptic message
hindsight firmly foreclosed unhinged shutters
framed in warped memories she recollected
blinds and veiled faces curtained in rags
holes and apertures appeared in the lore
essence void of existence smudged in tears
she relived captions and small printed subtexts
post-scripted antecedents and false premises
edited reminders and pasted virtuous contrasts
until meaning blocked out the pain of denial
a book mark covered in dust had refused to fade
and sealed approval onto questions and doubts
22nd June 2020
Categories:
subtexts, books,
Form: Free verse
You cannot let it drop, the imaginary subtexts,
The ideas of reference in each line, each word,
Are you so important that it all is meant for you?
Or do you know deep down it’s simply too absurd?
I have kept each page of hatred you have sent,
Like a butterfly collector pinions wings onto boards,
In the electric yellow vaults of micro folders,
On hard drives and in memory meticulously stored.
Each savage comment copied, each venomous critique,
Each post of warped disgust, distorted and obtuse,
Each schizophrenic typo, every rant and every rave,
Every message of dementia, every email of abuse.
So I really have to tell you I have had more than enough,
And the evidence provided by your paranoiac prose,
Gives me all I ever needed to turn the game around,
Hold on tight and watch and wait, for it’s time to shock the rose.
Categories:
subtexts, on writing and words,
Form: Verse