A Terza Rima

I met a man who just the other day
declared he wrote his poetry for me.
“But we have only met…” I tried to say.

He silenced me and said he did agree,
yet still each poem he writes is surely mine.
I asked him to explain that I might see.

He then quote poesy laudable and fine,
so listened I and watched his old eyes tear
while failing hide the shiver in my spine.

“Now, tell me if you will and say it clear,”
The poet challenged me, though gently spoke.
“that you own not what I compelled you hear.”

Rain falls today,
In me this day it has struck.
I feel it dance, I feel it’s will as if it’s alive.
I know this day it falls for me.
I’m awakened, somewhat aroused,
The wind whispers to me, I listen.
In solitude I, confess.
Lost for words only the utter of reminisce.

frail as a vase
your words like a veil
are translucent touchs
bleeding through me
mists on the dream tiles
the heartbeat
black mould grout
ideals

embrace me
and I feel loved
like the hot needle
streaking ink
the wings black
that pain exquisite
and beautiful
like the sky run with
torn clouds

mystic air about the
ghosts of our history
our unbecoming
stitched and torn
with wounded pride

I’ll tell you a story kiddies
take heed and no mistake,
don’t follow the path that I chose.
Let old Booze Hound show the route to take.

Oh you’ll shag, have a ball and carouze my friend
to that there is no doubt.
But the golden days of youth
and indiscretion are all to brief .
Hooch will cast it’s wicked spell
and the evil spiral will take down to Hell.

The nectar that promised freedom
will some how become your captor.
The boundless arrogance of
your tender years,
will soon fizzle out.

I dare say,
I'm proned to celebrating most all inalienable rights
as with the other lofty, idealistic dribble in our constitution;

at any rate,
the point I'm making here is rather sacred.
I'm speaking of the sporadic, irreverent visitations, and viewings in the library of my heart.

In other words,
those morsels, and tid-bits that assist us in conjuring up the past;
re-animating memories into the here, and now;
and tickling the hairs, in certain places.

Our life’s journey
inevitable in death
like those gone before
in the match of human race
Walking a reflective curve
Pointing to the eventual end
that which awaits us all
the artist creates and paints
the poet writes his feelings
Time ticks on and on
it never loiters
Bury the pains of loss
to cover the distance in front
We must move on,

Maybe there was,
Maybe there wasn’t,
But I can still remember,
When life had pulled up for me,
Waves of smoke and dust,
As we rode through the blinding canals of a black river,
“I cannot breath” I said,
But I was ignored,
So I explored,
And found their names on the walls,
I found their lives on the walls,
They who had risked so much for a name,
My name will not be up there,
You will find my name on papers,
And you will find them beaten by the colorless,
And you will choose to look away,

Close your eyes,
For one simple moment feel free.
Close your eyes,
Remember these words that flow within me.
Enchanted I scream
And cold mornings
Vanish for an eternity.

Alone in solitude,
This day shall not,
Will not I scream.
This day will not confine you.
Close your eyes and remember these words,
I pray you, listen,
In these times I will remind you.

The sharp edges of the K tears apart my gum
My swelling tongue licks the concave of the U
Amongst the burning bile and saliva the O appears
The poisoned spikes of the Y numb my mouth
The F is jagged and rips a hole in my cheek
The smooth curve of the C tastes bitter sweet
I crunch and crack the U between my teeth

I take a deep breath holding the letters within
Trying hard not to swallow and choke
I place the letters into order of attack
Ready to release the words of dragon fire and smoke

Wisdom is wasted on the old
for what good is it to know
.....the how
......the why
........the who
..........the where
when betraying bodies disallow
action?

The waste extends to passing on
ideas or advice to the young
who look upon rockingchair riders
..........as fools

Why not have wisdom in our youth
when abilities allow its use?

Keep ignorance for later years
when forsight of the body's failings
lends no comfort
indeed
..............forboding