the melody of summer
the hauntings of past halves and ghosts
anticipation for newness, phases
of seventeen numerals and choral capacity, sweaters to survive cold classrooms
but the people never heal you
the scar stays the same
The soul, O ganders, flies beyond the parks
And far beyond the discords of the wind.
A bronze rain from the sun descending marks
The death of summer, which that time endures
Like one who scrawls a listless testament
Of golden quirks and Paphian caricatures,
Bequeathing your white feathers to the moon
And giving your bland motions to the air.
Behold, already on the long parades
The crows anoint the statues with their dirt.
And the soul, O ganders, being lonely, flies
Beyond your chilly chariots, to the skies.
Someone's speaking rhetoric - do they want
an answer? Maybe not and when you ask them
they seem to have forgot, in denial and afraid
of being on trial; biting sarcasm reduces one
To a spasm, two into a chasm and three has 'em
in a box, cornered like a nervous runnig fox
I'll hold off and have some compassion - I think
today I've given all my ration: greatness is
Born from tolerance, modesty, knowledge, intuition
and honesty but most important is knowing when
to administer a degree of each - am I good enough
to teach this homespun philosophy - of course not
Keep your thoughts to myself, don't bore you and me -
come back one day when you have your PhD
Poets make lousy friends because eventually they’ll skewer you with their poison pen; their insulting writ of relentless invective and opprobrious apoplectic venom. The naked foist of un-allayed aggression as art-form whereby the vitriol of familiarity slices like a knife and digs in like a dagger. The very nature of chumminess turns adversarial. Like acid in the eyes the sneering contemptible retch could cobble out words with a disgustingly exquisite though execrable precision. A quirk, an idiosyncrasy, a malevolent adherence so committed to unmitigated truth that it is as a fist to the face, a shocking starkness of incivility justified by a requisite expedience hastened by the anxious need to blow one off forthwith. He was a veritable torrent of abject invectives.