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Ken Crawford Poem
Above the clouds, beyond the tree she stays.
Remaining thus, the moon is chaste for now,
Allowing not her well-worn face to show
The many scars belying better days.
I glide along, my wheelchair making way
For no man here, the streets bereft of flow,
Garages closed to keep their cars in stow.
I roam the night, while they may share the day.
Secluded thus I flee from ghosts untold
Who question where my life has gone astray
While broken paths and other wrecks unfold.
I’m lost and cannot seem to find my way
Toward peace of mind, a way out of the cold;
The growing mist thus edging joy away.
Copyright © Ken Crawford | Year Posted 2014
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Details |
Ken Crawford Poem
Alice plummets down the hole, a fallin’ to no end,
She mumbles to herself these words, for she’s without a friend:
>>Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats? Do bats eat cats?<<
Words which cycle through my brain are much-akin to that:
"Does pain dispel the sleeping? Or waking cause the pain?
>> It hurts, by George, it hurts…
It hurts a million times and more and then it hurts again!<<
Three diseases all gang up, it’s like they have a plan:
My epidermis, hypodermis, and then sebaceous gland;
My endocrine, digestive, my lymphatic and immune;
My skeletal, and muscular, my sinews cry in tune.
My head throbs, my teeth ache, my nerves have gone awry.
My muscles jump, my joints pop (Oh Lord don't let me cry!)
The manly parts are aching, the neutral parts and more,
My disease-provided female breasts are getting mighty sore.
So many spots are burning, I think I hear a cry –
“Prometheus give me back my fire and DO NOT ask me why!”
I sat my bed in agony, with bottom parts red-hot;
The Bard was somewhere singing, “This pain doth like him not.”
>> Hot cross buns, hot cross buns.
One a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns.<<
Is there no balm in Gilead? for here I can’t find none.
Even now my grammar appears to come undone!
Copyright © Ken Crawford | Year Posted 2014
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