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  Mar 2015 Wanderer
SG Holter
At times I wonder if all
I ever wanted
Besides being a poet
Alone, was to have a
Beautiful face to touch.
That let me.
And liked it.
...and nothing more.
  Mar 2015 Wanderer
SG Holter
The Cumaean Sibyl was the priestess presiding over the Apollonian oracle at Cumae, a Greek colony located near Naples, Italy. The word sibyl comes (via Latin) from the ancient Greek word sibylla, meaning prophetess. (Wikipedia)


Songs of prophecy on oaken leaves
Unread; unclaimed; unrequested
Fly from out either of the many entrances
To her cave chambers.

She doesn't mind. Poet or prophet, the
Wind has hands greater than human;  
Words without willing ears wrestle away
Without struggle.

Only they and the wind see the beauty
Of it. She? She doesn't mind.
Guide to the Underworld, she has greater
Things to meditate on than

The Infants of the Universe
In their insignificant sandboxes.
Here; more poetry. Come who may,
To read.*

Who may.
Apollo's twisted payment for her
Pleasures: As many years of life as grains
Of sand in her hand.

But she forgot to ask for youth.
After a thousand years, only her voice is
Left, whispering: Children, all will
Be well. It already is.


It already is.
Wanderer Mar 2015
I stood silent, still
City lights and sounds rained down
Forming musical puddles all around
Eyes dart everywhere to pull it all in
Lungs working to pump it all out
Filth in the gutters
Trash in the streets
Everyone moving quickly
Business at their feet
Neon signs did buckle
Under the weight of picturesque pomp
I had no idea what I was getting into
Watching the curved lines of this city's model stomp
My colors don't belong here
Foreign, sore thumb seed
Everyone comments on bringing spring in
For earth is what they truly need
How could anyone be happy in a place
Where everyone is wearing black
I left with thoughts of open fields
Oceans against my toes
I say to myself I'll never go back
...but who knows?
Wanderer Mar 2015
Your side of the bed
Is not the same
Without you in it
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