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Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
The solitary beat
of a beating heart

The solitary heart
of a heartless man

The solitary man
of a crowded world

The solitary world
of a ludicrous dream

The solitary dream
of hideous music

The solitary music
of incoherent beats

The solitary beat
of a beating heart
A Beating Heart resonates throughout the vast fields of the universe impacting and being impacted. Consider the impact of one solitary beat.
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Harken not in hate
Whence thine love's words may repair
Hither, thine aching heart
Love's Language
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
The butterfly is a frugal fellow
His dancing wings float ever aloft
He is always well mannered and mellow
Yet deemed queer because he's modest and soft

He passes his time in contemplation
Placates with colourful diplomacy
Works hard and avoids procrastination
He's artful and filled with tenacity

Not a slurp when, his ambrosia, he sips
His etiquette shows: it is well entrenched
For outings and ins he'll sure catch that tip
The rarest charm to behold but not clenched

Luck sees you such a butterfly at play
He's a frugal fellow and so he'll stay.
The Butterfly
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Tetragrammaton
The apex of poetry
One word says it all
The Tetragrammaton is the pinnacle of poetry.
Never trust a white man,
Never **** a Jew,
Never sign a contract,
Never rent a pew.
Don't enlist in armies;
Nor marry many wives;
Never write for magazines;
Never scratch your hives.
Always put paper on the seat,
Don't believe in wars,
Keep yourself both clean and neat,
Never marry ******.
Never pay a blackmailer,
Never go to law,
Never trust a publisher,
Or you'll sleep on straw.
All your friends will leave you
All your friends will die
So lead a clean and wholesome life
And join them in the sky.
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
The boy was homeless
He had been strolling the streets
alone
amid all the bustle and haste
He was lost at every turn

Gazing wildly
he saw everything
Nothing was the same
Except
An old soda can

He kicked it with contentment
along his journey
to no discernible place
Frail and pale
He limped along

Not a visible emotion
garnished his fragile face
His body kept some secrets
It murmured
softly into the darkness.

What's heaven for waking eyes?
A ripened pleasure hanging in dawn
On the last limb of a tree
A mango
As yellow as the sunshine

Filled with a fresh determination
wearing a precious laugh
Trembling
He climbed
Trembling to the very top

He stretched to the fruit
The fruit stretched
Into his hand
and his sinking teeth
quenched his dying hunger

The boy's face dripping with joy
as he dripped
Slowly
Sadly
to a trodden sidewalk

He held a solemn smile
on his crimson face
This once homeless boy
had found
his own place
The Boy was Homeless
He poured the coffee
Into the cup
He put the milk
Into the cup of coffee
He put the sugar
Into the coffee with milk
With a small spoon
He churned
He drank the coffee
And he put down the cup
Without any word to me
He emptied the coffee with milk
And he put down the cup
Without any word to me
He lighted
One cigarette
He made circles
With the smoke
He shook off the ash
Into the ashtray
Without any word to me
Without any look at me
He got up
He put on
A hat on his head
He put on
A raincoat
Because it was raining
And he left
Into the rain
Without any word to me
Without any look at me
And I buried
My face in my hands
And I cried
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