After some time of no comment and a lot of rewriting I republish this piece for better or worse...
disbanding all is farewell to all
is what all organic matter must live with
as one must with live new compositions
on their way to silly combat graves
while I fold the pain of age around the children
and plead with stiff lampposts at ease.
Yes, I, and, as it were,
the I times flamboyant air expression,
grabbed a few more breaths
of all that one mans inhaled upstart
can ever hold for more than I,
more than what one understanding man
with likely eyes can see, or be,
express, die, recolor, retake a break for
as all "rewind every bit" one has ever been
gives way to other pervious observations
that flood through mans curved understanding
in one too many might be called for
in minarets of a northern kind
in fear of total obliteration.
This is all I am,
this is all my wayward expression
might or might not tell my what to do
in carved ticks of tell tale time
as all I and I
watch each small garden extension
shrug into brown shadow midday halls
where once I lost the money
made from a deaf stranger convention
and perhaps an old acid ship
I
eye
see you.
Who am I, that see I and you
burning through all short occurrence
once and for all, what a ship!
but perhaps the acid who am I
burns the short experience
once and for all.
This is all I am.
With some: Less is more than I
and some I is less more time's at all.
I am curved and slow to do trees
much older than I ever will be
in drafts of sea birds and herons
calling at dawn's silly host,
or
the willy-nilly craft
that imbibes the wild and sinister blue
of seas and shells with tales to tell.
Who has seen more than I tonight?
I need no bomb in my belt
to make a point,
nor do I need to kill doctors
that pick the ones with voices
and patterns of look ahead fools.
I explode by myself
it is late
time is all dark
and all is by the one.
Care for the one you love to hate,
you might like to grow
and let me tell you,
to see the essence of all
that transpires here in looking at,
yes I know, at you,
the curtain call, the end,
the all I this late can fall and go to
with so much more than to be
all I can see
as you too are here... with me...
humming...
is like killing the notion
of finally departing.
Poetry by Bob
Read 541 times
Written on 2008-05-11 at 00:15
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The beginning and the end
A slow coming into dark end's dieingdisbanding all is farewell to all
is what all organic matter must live with
as one must with live new compositions
on their way to silly combat graves
while I fold the pain of age around the children
and plead with stiff lampposts at ease.
Yes, I, and, as it were,
the I times flamboyant air expression,
grabbed a few more breaths
of all that one mans inhaled upstart
can ever hold for more than I,
more than what one understanding man
with likely eyes can see, or be,
express, die, recolor, retake a break for
as all "rewind every bit" one has ever been
gives way to other pervious observations
that flood through mans curved understanding
in one too many might be called for
in minarets of a northern kind
in fear of total obliteration.
This is all I am,
this is all my wayward expression
might or might not tell my what to do
in carved ticks of tell tale time
as all I and I
watch each small garden extension
shrug into brown shadow midday halls
where once I lost the money
made from a deaf stranger convention
and perhaps an old acid ship
I
eye
see you.
Who am I, that see I and you
burning through all short occurrence
once and for all, what a ship!
but perhaps the acid who am I
burns the short experience
once and for all.
This is all I am.
With some: Less is more than I
and some I is less more time's at all.
I am curved and slow to do trees
much older than I ever will be
in drafts of sea birds and herons
calling at dawn's silly host,
or
the willy-nilly craft
that imbibes the wild and sinister blue
of seas and shells with tales to tell.
Who has seen more than I tonight?
I need no bomb in my belt
to make a point,
nor do I need to kill doctors
that pick the ones with voices
and patterns of look ahead fools.
I explode by myself
it is late
time is all dark
and all is by the one.
Care for the one you love to hate,
you might like to grow
and let me tell you,
to see the essence of all
that transpires here in looking at,
yes I know, at you,
the curtain call, the end,
the all I this late can fall and go to
with so much more than to be
all I can see
as you too are here... with me...
humming...
is like killing the notion
of finally departing.
Poetry by Bob
Read 541 times
Written on 2008-05-11 at 00:15
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
 by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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