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Nathanael Griggs Poem
Head or tails is that your good side or the bad
shiny, worn, new, old, smart, stupid societal
cash register?
We all get piled up.
Your denomination tells your class: two cents or fifty
indentations of personality ealge, flag, ego or in
God do you trust?
Fold a twenty the right way
Now do you believe in hell?
No. I know your type: the fake quarter the boy
scored, poor and bored at the railroad tracks
bashed, smashed, beaten, used.
We all get piled up.
God only collects the shiny coins.
Copyright © Nathanael Griggs | Year Posted 2014
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Nathanael Griggs Poem
I sat down on the grass above you.
The dew drops drooping as I delicately
Drew my hand across
Your stone head;
the way I used to
run my fingers
Through your dark hair.
I, staring into your name, almost
Saw your green eyes shine
through the etched, gray letters.
“I owe you an apology and confession.”, I said.
“On January 5th as John the Revelator
was mistranslating your verse and
carrying you to Apollo‘s gates;
my cupid was misfiring his own bow.”
Copyright © Nathanael Griggs | Year Posted 2014
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Nathanael Griggs Poem
The dew has been banished from the grass
And the pups taken from the teet.
A drunk is lacking hard drink.
Like a television without a picture tube
Longing stares itself in the mirror, feeling, but
Denying its very existence while arrogance
Wants to scream from within.
Copyright © Nathanael Griggs | Year Posted 2014
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Nathanael Griggs Poem
I’m your life’s embankment; the wrong way street.
You’re the mighty river: the containable rejected.
Edging away my banks, indifferent to the cold or heat;
you’re life is an erosion project left unprotected.
You take a piece of sand here and a dirt clod there;
engulfing and dragging it along to the mouth
of the ocean; mixing me in with the debris where
plastics, paper bags, fishing lures, all float south.
Things once held in people’s very hands, thrown
out in disregard, now unneeded, or just lost
in the current by a false promise; a catch never known.
I look upstream of your soul at your thoughts’ cost.
I see your frustrations in swirling pools, vortex of mind;
hung up on things that I, floating, am forced to leave behind
Copyright © Nathanael Griggs | Year Posted 2014
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