A
broken record
melodiously repeating
the same phrase
to a constant rhythm:

“I love you”
“I love you,”

And
a timid ear eager
in pace to halt the
sounds of the music’s
delicate reassurance

Where is my poem
Where can it be found
Before it's written down
It cannot be found

Then when written down
And read by someone new
Do they read the poem
Read by me or you?

Is the title the poem
Or the first line
If you check you will see
It's not any single line

The poem's not a verse
The poem's not a word
The poem's not a salad
Of sounds that are heard

The poem is unfindable
Try, if you dare
You cannot point at it
Or find it anywhere

It may inspire some ire
You may burn it in a fire
Or place it in a gilded frame
To be read again and again

But!  If your poem is about a certain man
Be careful what you say
Assassins may come
And take your life away

Sean Hunt  
Windermere May 201

You painted gloss on your face
pain in your eyes,
you left your lips because
they were chapped,
but the audience clapped anyway.

You kissed them too and afterwards
you smoked a cheroot with Bert the
artistic director.

He married Maureen from
the chorus line
there was a time a long ways back
when you and Bert flirted,
but it never went anywhere,
what with you up there in the spotlight
and him in the wings,
you'd given him the nod,
he'd given you a **** with
the lines he mistook
for those on your neck.

It's over now
the curtain fell,
the actress
her role
an empty
shell.

Farewell
to an audience
no longer there,
the lights have gone out
the billboards are bare.

And Bert doesn't care
does he?

It's coming through a hole in the air,
from those nights in Tiananmen Square.
It's coming from the feel
that it ain't exactly real,
or it's real, but it ain't exactly there.
From the wars against disorder,
from the sirens night and day,
from the fires of the homeless,
from the ashes of the gay:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming through a crack in the wall,
on a visionary flood of alcohol;
from the staggering account
of the Sermon on the Mount
which I don't pretend to understand at all.
It's coming from the silence
on the dock of the bay,
from the brave, the bold, the battered
heart of Chevrolet:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming from the sorrow on the street
the holy places where the races meet;
from the homicidal *******'
that goes down in every kitchen
to determine who will serve and who will eat.
From the wells of disappointment
where the women kneel to pray
for the grace of G-d in the desert here
and the desert far away:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
Sail on, sail on
o mighty Ship of State!
To the Shores of Need
past the Reefs of Greed
through the Squalls of Hate
Sail on, sail on
It's coming to America first,
the cradle of the best and the worst.
It's here they got the range
and the machinery for change
and it's here they got the spiritual thirst.
It's here the family's broken
and it's here the lonely say
that the heart has got to open
in a fundamental way:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming from the women and the men.
O baby, we'll be making love again.
We'll be going down so deep
that the river's going to weep,
and the mountain's going to shout Amen!
It's coming to the tidal flood
beneath the lunar sway,
imperial, mysterious
in amorous array:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
Sail on, sail on
o mighty Ship of State!
To the Shores of Need
past the Reefs of Greed
through the Squalls of Hate
Sail on, sail on
I'm sentimental if you know what I mean:
I love the country but I can't stand the scene.
And I'm neither left or right
I'm just staying home tonight,
getting lost in that hopeless little screen.
But I'm stubborn as those garbage bags
that Time cannot decay,
I'm junk but I'm still holding up
this little wild bouquet:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.

Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by
You can spend the night beside her
And you know that she's half crazy
But that's why you want to be there
And she feeds you tea and oranges
That come all the way from China
And just when you mean to tell her
That you have no love to give her
Then she gets you on her wavelength
And she lets the river answer
That you've always been her lover
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For you've touched her perfect body with your mind.
And Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said "All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them"
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
And you want to travel with him
And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with his mind.
Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she's touched your perfect body with her mind.

See the sands softly sinking
Beneath the ghosts of sandal
Wearing travelers
Nature compressed
Or impressed
Temporarily
With people
Passing through
Till the tides
Rushing wash away those prints
Like a salty etch a sketch

I don't know you myself but I feel like I must help
I dont owe you a cent but I feel like I owe you my strength

Its against my faith but I'll give you a hand
If its power u wish then I'll give you my fire
In this cold world all need is my heart

Been searching the world looking for the one
Stayed out of sight, she's nowhere to be found
I give in, now give me your heart

I'm swallowin my pride give my a smile
I'm swallowin my pride now give me a sign

A throng of poppies
like a lolling maroon tongue
that slumps into water
hundreds of crushes
split the scene
sunlight licks through trees
with a warm caress

autumn foliage comes to play
a swell of golden shapes
dangle from spindly arms
dance over the river
shimmering cerulean
as molten steel
on a late October morning