The bright lights of the night's feathers...
The ointment of a cylindrical prayer is now - Spy aphorism...
My Siamese soul, caressed between a woman's fingers, a stained, fat racket...
In an announcement that no one hears, the old baker sells bodies. Fingers fall from behind every window, a clan cemetery at their tips
The sound of children dying on watery slopes, approaches me in .sandals. I collect my shadow from the strawberry garden.
I find peace in sleep. Young gloom remembers my traces on my feet.
With every opening of a black encyclopedia, I search for my plural face in the pages.
Balloons fill the sky. In the bottle I blow, the ocean breeze...
Someone sings lullabies and my eyes swing in the newborn's cradle.
An old biologist named Ulysses
Had a job identifying species
Ulysses was ****-backward
His technique manufactured
'Stead of faces, he examined feces
Shouts, Yells, Screams, Rants, Raves
Bullhorn-magnified Bombast
"Decapitate him!"
Why don't the police stop it?
What happened to enforcement?
Ulysses thought that he had lost
Olympus’ wry smile
When his frail boat by waves was tossed
Upon the Cyclops isle.
He found that he had even more
Which could be swiftly lost,
And that what fate too often stole
Claimed but a modest cost.
What little he bemoaned he had
Was far more than he thought:
He might have been content and glad
For his too happy lot.
I, likewise, when I fear I’ve lost
All hope amidst regret,
Recall that every bridge I’ve crossed
Has made me richer yet.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
ULYSSES! AWAKE!
Are you not just as much an oar
as was the wind
that fills misguided sails?
Your Ship! Your chart!
Your shooting of the stars!
Your warriors sick for home
you've led them all astray,
delivering to cyclops
and their play
and for the joy of sirens
undressed by moonlight
for the likes of you.
Sleep not dear boy.
You must not dream Penelope's untrue,
amidst her suitors with your aging dog.
Ulysses! wake!
Your crew and ship await
and you must string the bow
for old time's sake.
© ron Wilson arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Ulysses Wake
Is Ulysses not just as much an oar
as he is wind that fills misguided sails?
O! Ship! Your chart and shooting of the stars,
those warriors sick for home you've led astray,
delivering to cyclops and their ploy
and all the joy of sirens. Sleep dear boy.
You must not dream Penelope's untrue,
amidst her suitors with your aging dog.
Ulysses wake! Your crew and ship await
and you must string the bow for old time's sake.
© ron wilson arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
'Twas well-known that Gen'ral Grant liked his rum
But he knew how to make an army hum
Lincoln said that if he knew
Where Ulysses got his brew
For his slothful gen'rals he'd order some!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
I watched
the spider
fall
from the
ceiling.
It tried
to climb
the wall
it fell.
It tried
again
it fell.
It tried
and fell
again -
and finally
it reached
the ceiling.
So strong
in will
to strive
to seek
to find
and not
to yield!
Her head tilted back towards the darkened clouds,
Mocha curls rests on shoulder blades,
Lids shut tight hiding emerald eyes shedding crystals,
Water rushed from the grey sky,
Shades of ulysses butterfly flooded over flesh,
The drops pierced her tender pores,
Seeping under her pale skin,
Merging with her spirit as one,
Then remained.
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