dshael: (Default)
MORNING,
a VERY DRAMATIC POEM
by a grill cook, forced to work early.

Oh cruel light of day
that follows sleepless night!
Rosy-fingered Dawn
creeps o'er the rim of earth
only to provoke the horrid little birds
to uncouth twitters...
I shut my eyes to you.

Why must I drag my crumbling,
stumbling
bones
from the dark den I lay them in?
Only to stuff the gaping maws
of every greedy thug
with two dollars to pay
for their encrusted greasy portion?

Oh, yeah, the rent.
Damn.

poetry

Feb. 11th, 2008 09:19 am
dshael: (Default)
I am so sorry, but I must share this poem now. Because I like graveyards.

By a Stranger's Grave

It's cool in the shade here.
Just two steps away
the sun is a white-yellow hammer.
Here by your tombstone,
it's cool in the shade.

I linger only breathing
by a half-familiar stranger's name
engraved in stone,
an enigmatic song without a tune.
We are resting long-forgotten,
the two of us together.

I breathe the wet scent
of broken weeds bleeding green-ness,
taste you on the wind,
heavy and silent as honeysuckle.
White and yellow honeysuckle!
Climbing by the wall there,
shadows grasping spears and stars
of precious color.

Found this while rummaging. Posting is how I avoid the packing I should be doing. :)

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dshael

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