Enlisting minds tuned to noise,
one good spell,
post participation in the everlasting war;
a peaceful valley, where waiting is only waiting.
Settled, true rest, compressed and shaken down
watching warnings evolve,
in human super bloom.
Eight billion minds
of the main kind,
collective conscience,
under ever afterward solemn
compulsion
to tell the truth. Whole,
no reason to bring to confession,
I must test, to prove to you,
if I
I did hear the knock, as it were, a bell, ting,
ding, I opened the door and made no invitation,
as when a farmer lets out water, whoosh
this leaky old cistern was full to overflow,
and
the rat that hid in the old dry well, drown'd.
Resulting in silence,
due to the truth in any story being authorized,
authority approved.
triple A.
Sowing as the legendary Johnny Appleseed,
with cautionary
pioneer role,
we can take the land, that was the story told…
none of this is learned in secret.
- done did done, done did done, done
do you
know the way to San Jose?
Did you know, in 1968?
----------------
The pilgrimage to all the drops, each 50 league step,
madding memory of yapping pups herding first bought sheep
over the cliff,
into the sea,
thinking that will be the end
of me, as a shepherd…
No, I never cried wolf.
I never took up the hunt for wolves,
I knew it was my own fault
as a shepherd innocent, novice with only books,
who bought a friendly dog, with too much to learn,
and no safe place to train,
brain to worth,
what is good
to know, what is good to go, chase into the sea,
like the spirits from the Gadarene,
and what evil comes when knowing
of good grows too slow
to catch a gnat with no effort.
Watchman! What of the night?
Who is asking, comes a reply,
why do you know nothing
at this hour,
it is dark and quiet, but for living noises,
courting crickets and owlish judgements
bat beeps and squeals, but those, we feel I think, more than hear.
Excerpt from The Od Evangelist, an unpublished novelish poem.
