The First stanza would be a magnatic attic captivating Elegant architects of iridescence Vividly propelling pupils to edges Of the schleras Compelling pens to pages of new eras
IF I WERE A POET
The Second Stanza would Mirror Zues's spear slicing through tears drowning in clouds strucking fields of pens Egniting the capsules of Variegated Lands
IF I WERE A POET
The Last stanza would sail summers tame winters bathe in springs of autumn praise deeds of the monarchs reigning over raining rainbows naturing the clouds planting wings on the ground giving free will to plants to seed the sky with warmth and love of nature's heart.
Hello poets I haven't written in a while hope I'm not rusty
(For Marg and Laurice, snake charmers extraordinaire)
Like the Burmese priestess kissing the cobra I must never take my eyes off that steely, staring, coal-black serpent eye lest the fangs swaying in that unborn smile strike in the split-second that contains my salvation or my undoing. Lips always poised between heaven and hell, I advance on the servant of knowledge hooded with an assumed mastery, that hood branded with Nature's tattoo: Omega, the end and that flickering tongue that reads my body temperature could cut it cold. Cold as the smooth-bumpy reptilian snout upon which I lightly lay the final kiss.
Copyright Andrew M. Bell. The poet wishes to acknowledge Valley Micropress in whose pages this poem first appeared.
Sometime I am in confusion because, In my room there is a portrait on the wall and the picture Sometime smiles give me applause, sometimes smiles and condemn me, Sometime smile and Question me ! When share it to my Fellows they tell me ‘You are lucky, Somebody is there to caution you’! One of them asked ‘Who is he?’ Really I don’t know! But always alert me! Everyone laughs and said ‘You are living with your scruples’!