A stab in the dark 5



5

The old man downs severity
and cloaked daybreaks
on his way to meet serendipity
a cold, flawless, winter day.

Burning all bold forever's
beneath a cold private sky
he cries for the lost children.

Bushes etched in winter nudity
exudes flittering clouds
of warm, feathery life.

Tears of irrevocability
ices the cold sea
where mighty mackerels hum.

Why must he forego all masters of oblivion
on his way to the sea?
A thousand tears have flowed in vain.

A final call will soon
roll over mortal condition
and nothing but broken tail lights
can guide a stray man
concluding his day.

Malign seas finally die,
– long before breakfast –
a temporal disgust, lust,
a slow burning
jelly fish hold in contempt.

It is continuance
that holds him from fretting,
or falling.
The falling could keep him
from staring at the end.

"Good night weary wisdom's fading.
Tonight no one can play elusive
to the smile of pale stars,
shadows will not play."

Death has no further say
as day finally falls into broken night;
haunting rites and intangible ends
give wind to voices soon lost in blame,
lament and salt.

Time is cruel at midnight falling.
The sea puts shanty history to sleep
with shimmering waves,
with moonshine
and reasons that continually
reflect on waves.

A hand recoils in petty pilfer,
signals dark dead discipline.
A reptile restitution
implicates a new now,
a fully believed sanctuary
where human expectation warps.

Theft is located somewhere
between the third and forth vertebra
signaling a lost tail.
Prostitution goes
while transparent skin
tells another tale.

Codes of conduct define what he is
as he materializes in what he sees.




Poetry by Bob
Read 1178 times
Written on 2011-08-29 at 23:15

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