seriously fried

seriously fried like a dead fish
with a crisp batter to kill for
I walked on spring time Wales
where wild Callas bloomed
where one could hear the sea
rolling in wordy memories
of so many dead bards
rolling with dead geese in the tide

seriously sold out and gone
into the idea of being dead
with dead poets crushing
on tidal shores gleaming
in pure frustration
with a smidge of acceptance
when finally the call comes
perhaps in peace

I see you I see the dead
I see the waves the dead score
leftovers drifting
as I once looked upon
the continuity of things
never dreaming of demise
in the fluidity of all I see
running for a place in the sun




Poetry by Bob
Read 559 times
Written on 2015-06-19 at 15:50

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Perhaps dead poets are the only people who live forever. Wales has such a rich heritage of poetry. You cannot help but be in awe I guess.
2015-06-21