You Should Be A Poet
You craft words well, in creative and unexpected ways.
And you have a great talent for evoking beautiful imagery…
Or describing the most intense heartbreak ever.
You’re already naturally a poet, even if you’ve never written a poem.
she sits at the back
of Starbucks and stares
at the door, poised in
anticipation of her prey
she does not blink
she does not drink
her coffee goes cold
she could be an exhibit
in Madame Tussauds
i want to touch her
to see if she is real, but
i dare not move
my coffee goes cold
‘Now you must needs,’ my teacher said, ‘shake off
your wonted indolence. No fame is won
beneath the quilt or sunk in feather cushions.’
‘Whoever, fameless, wastes his life away,
leaves of himself no greater mark on earth
than smoke in air or froth upon a wave.’
‘I offer you,’ he said to me, ‘no answer
save “just do it”. Noble demands, by right,
deserve the consequence of silent deeds.’
-Dante, Inferno, Cantos 24
please mr prophet man
tell me what is true
I hear some say religion
is good for you
but i’m not sure
when in god’s name
they tell me bombs
and bullets are the cure
“What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make and end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.” (T.S. Eliot, The Gidding, V)
We bow our heads in quiet
servitude to the dust, our lips
form prayers to gods, who
long ago abandoned us.
We huddle together in a candle
lit room; frankincense, jasmine,
and sage, form broken patterns
in the air; amethyst rock, lapis lazuli,
crystal quartz, and rose guard the
four corners of the room, silent
sentries and witnesses to our gloom.
Here we try to replicate
perfect peace profound, but
how will we ever know peace
when we can’t recall her name?
We close our eyes to quiet our
minds and search for peace
against the turmoil of the day.
Eirene begins to cry, she knows
we will not find her here
among these relics of the past.
The guru takes the mic.
He’s seen the wondrous light
and has come to lead us there
to death’s dream kingdom.
His words, mellow and sweet,
strokes the back of our necks
and lulls us to sleep, and deeper
we travel to death’s other kingdom.
The guru licks his lips and passes
the offering plate around, let us pray!
The guru smiles, he knows we will
not see the light, how can we when
our eyes are closed?
The soldiers tossed the chicken
Bones, they didn’t like his politics.
Strung him up on a cross and
Gambled for his ragged clothes.
Cancel the Second Coming,
The church has decreed, no
Heroic figure can save us
From our avarice, lust, and greed.
The twisted logic of confrontation
And violence are meant to be
Suffered in silence, let the ruthless
Gain at the expense of the poor,
It’s what free markets were designed for.
The bishop takes the podium:
“Stand together,” he shouts, “Or
We shall all hang separately in an
Economic bubble we can’t sustain.”
A dictator disposed in the gallows,
They didn’t like his politics.
Strung a noose around his neck
Streamed his pictures across the Internet.
A mobile phone exposes the insanity
Of our tricked out humanity, evolved.