taking you with me
purple casted amethysts
from the time of innocence
and scents so pungent my eyes could hear their flavors.
you came and come and drive me
i want and pull until skins turn inside out
it evaporates
when you
go
mad
on me.
properly pathetic
zany, gregarious lioness of warmth,
it's not a curse...
did you ever look beyond your tiny little panes?
the fat captain on your boat,
he's sailed you right into a barren harbor..
but still you swoon and blow your false trumpet.
to who i ask?
the ones who listen.. are not who you desire i know..
the moon settles over our imperfect formation.
you may have the heat of that sun.
gold, rain, and no baby's breath...
the flowers are only painted.. not clean and pure.
don't mime in a world of noises.. it's not becoming to
your gilded frame.
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hhmmm, having been put in the position of "trying" to be clever with the content of this bio, i find myself at a loss. i'm better at the impromptu i believe. anyway, i write "poetry" which my family and friends patronizingly say is fine. however, the professor at our local college, (Bucks County, Pa. Poet Laureate for several years) seemed to have quite a different and less complimentary opinion. (smile).. i write for therapy which is more than any person should expect. it seems to be safer than medication and a lot less expensive.
i'm not an artist, a photographer, a musician, or a math teacher. i do APPRECIATE art, film, music and i like math. (smile).. i travel the highway and i have 13 earrings in my left ear. that's all i can think of that's "clever". |
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