Slow food

slow food feast on my own sword
dipping blue cheese moon chips
into dark bowls of tidal reluctance
where herons in spidery walk
talk cockerels into an ending heart
a final shine on watery lips

feasting eye the bard is here
where watery syllables roll
musky pristine sand I if told
in a thousand colours is one
hear! war is not a language
it's all about dominion

sober sky that meets the eye
there is no more in say so here
only a need of fire a seed
dark evenings at a Darwin sea
a way to why the me in here
is what I am not what I imply



Poetry by Bob
Read 683 times
Written on 2016-04-29 at 23:07

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Kathy Lockhart
You are certainly an artist of images creating a whole environment which I've passed many times on the way to Playalinda Beach in Florida Space Coast. It's a Natural Preserve, there where the salt and fresh water meet. So much wildlife alive, thriving, walking, flying, creeping, soaring, and swimming. With head turned, that eye of the heron watching. The beginning will it be the end? war the dominion. All influencing life.
Your poetry cannot just be read and tossed aside. It must be consumed, digested, and allowed to nourish the mind of the reader.
2016-05-05



The images are so vivid. I see the slow, evil feeding snd destroying all that stands in the way by a monster called war. War by any name is a feeding frenzy (or a slow feeding). Predator eating prey is what I see, but your last line puzzles me. There is no good guy in a war?
Just my vision of what I read here. Amazing wording! :)
Ashe
2016-05-01