"grandly" poems
my whispers,
they float over the currents
braving the undulating waves in our overture...
around their necks, hung time-worn pendants
whispers...
struggling to convey my sentence
like wreaths adrift perhaps with hope
like a requiem filled perhaps with remorseful penance
but more like weakened footholds on a slippery slope...
this dream...
only spoke grandly of sprawling blackness
where nothing did gleam
only thoughts heavy but...
oddly weightless
except for...
a repertoire of transgressions...
raucous and obnoxious
mischievous taunts that pull me back
caging me,
enslaving me,
smothering me senseless
that was my consciousness
where second chances exist...
in faint sporadic eruptions
through the heavy curtains of uncertainty's mist
finally awakened by hastened breaths
heavy and laboured
as like previous temporary deaths
I could hear my heart
thumping...
beating...
fighting...
to set its beats apart
breathe deep...
allow the new day's air sink in
rise fully from sleep
wake up
and...
let today begin
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 8:01 AM UTC
Forlorn as a destitute child,
I wandered to the distant wild;
Through a peculiar lonelier wood,
Like a wave, roving as fast as I could.
Not long, I came by a myrtle river bank
Where early boughs grow wild and rank.
There my eyes kissed upon wild flowers,
All grandly dressed in neon colours,
Rhythmically whispering lullabies,
Ineffably upon velvety indigo skies,
Whilst swaying in a friskier dance,
That could render naked eyes in a trance.
At such a mesmerizing sight,
I drowned in a pool of sweet delight
Hence in wonderment shook my head,
And in a velvety voice whispered:
"Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers
What brings about thy Ineffable colors?"
**And all flowers smiled and smiled,
And exuberantly all thus replied:**
"At dusk, when fair maidens of the night
Grandly dress in flocks, of burning bright;
And madly smiles about skies above,
Oh! Their opalscent eyes we flowers love:
So, from their pulchritudenous color;
So lies the mysteries of our allure."
At such a mesmerizing reply,
Sweet delight oozed from mine eye
Hence in wonderment shook my head,
And in a velvety voice whispered:
"Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers
What brings about thy ineffable colors?"
**And all flowers smiled and smiled,
And exuberantly all thus replied:**
"At dawn, when the day's watchman
Doth weareth his novelty crown,
And treads upon yonder skies above,
Oh! His golden crown we flowers love:
So, from his pulchritudenous color;
So lies the mysteries of our allure."
At such a mesmerizing reply,
Sweet delight oozed from mine eye
Hence in wonderment shook my head,
And in a velvety voice whispered:
"Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers
What brings about thy ineffable colors?"
**And all flowers smiled and smiled,
And exuberantly all thus replied:**
"When envious veils of dusk engulfs day,
Paving the fairest Empress way;
To grandly grace on yonder skies above,
Oh! Her rainbow robes we flowers love:
So, from her pulchritudenous colour;
So lies the mysteries of our allure."
At such a mesmerizing reply,
Sweet delight oozed from mine eye
Hence in wonderment shook my head,
And in a velvety voice whispered:
"Flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers
What brings about thy ineffable colors?"
**'And all,' all flowers smiled and smiled;
I mean, smiled, smiled and smiled,
I say, smiled, smiled and smiled,
And happiness bloomed in the wild.**
#bliss of solitude
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros
Jumeira, Dubai
6th August 2017
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 10:09 AM UTC
II Pet 1:9 coming to mind as I finished, lo, the complexity of this piece, and this: "...lacketh these things is blind and cannot see afar off--"
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXCIX)
How Shakespeare's lines 'non haunt the flag's detail
As't waves to bitter winds' capricious sense
Of play, with memries of late rallies thence
In tow, as all we'd grandly strut through'd pale
Before the empty eye of hours that scale
Down what we said was living, as pretense
Leers through the smoky limelight fading hence
Where leaves pile up too thickly for aught bail.
Is't cuz I've tried 'gain to be stylish fer
What fashion and say Vogue mag swore was due,
Tae learn my peers yet scorn attempts in tour?
Cuz even when I did succeed and do
All that "they" said should be, or called too poor
What we thought tops, Death mocks as ere we knew?
07Nov18a
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 4:27 PM UTC
Tonight I have no words.
I cannot grandly sweep my pen
In flowing arcs across the page,
Drawing little soft impressions
(little soft depressions)
That show how lovely pain can be.
I cannot play the great Creator
Who rips a vital pulsing mass
from out His chest,
And molds still-beating clay
With a sad old potter’s gentle hands
into a little melancholic harpist
who plucks the heartstrings perfectly.
No, I have no words that fit
Like others have made fit before,
composing language to fit all the inward lines and curves
(I once knew a few of her’s)
that twist and turn and come entwined,
(the twists and turns of long ago)
crying “Lacrimosa!” in some wee hour
as the breeze blows a lacy curtain back.
I am no Aeolian instrument
Sounding a sweet ethereal chord into the night.
I am the vacuous breath left behind in silence
When the musician’s music stops —
A tuneless referent —
An empty exclamation mark
Howling noiselessly in space,
Meaning nothing
And everything, all the same.
!
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC
He always wanted to be a ballerina
To dance so dainty up on his toes.
But everyone could see under his tutu
And the bump they saw was not his nose.
He had the talent and the perfect figure
To perform the balletic steps just right.
There was no way he could ever manage
To keep that ample package out of sight.
Jete, jete. Plie, Plie.
Dance like that’s all you want to do.
Dancing straight, or dancing gay,
Do whatever is right for you.
Hands and toes pointed fine
Back and necks held straight.
Maybe it’s not your time to get picked.
But make it worth their wait.
His skin was smooth just like a swaddling baby
There was no concern about flat *******
Many ballerinas are rather mannish
With not much curvature to their chests.
So he could pass completely undetected
Androgyny was his great good friend
But any moment when he swirled about
Tutu would lift and then spell the spell would end.
Jete, jete. Plie, Plie.
Dance like that’s all you want to do.
Dancing straight, or dancing gay,
Do whatever is right for you.
Hands and toes pointed fine
Back and necks held straight.
Maybe it’s not your time to get picked.
But make it worth their wait.
He never really loved the danseur posture
The holds and lifts and hearty leaps about.
But in the world of ballet and its leaders
Ballerina guys are always left out.
Still he danced in tutu at auditions.
He heard the comments, paid them no mind.
If they could not see grandly male Pavlova
That meant that all of them were blind.
Jete, jete. Plie, Plie.
Dance like that’s all you want to do.
Dancing straight, or dancing gay,
Do whatever is right for you.
Hands and toes pointed fine
Back and necks held straight.
Maybe it’s not your time to get picked.
But make it worth their wait.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
My configuration is accelerating
Off balance with the earth's core
Dissatisfied, I try to be still
My form is hyper and energetic
Loud and obnoxious
Mistaken and exaggerated for being cruel
I only seek to harness similarities
To stand grandly, instead I appear egotistical with low self-esteem
Contradicting, no way to make sense
This is a normal place
Disconnected, I try to behave
Social skill are at low percentage
Sitting, I embrace the heckling
one hand on heart and the other on mind,
In hopes to intertwine
Take control, define the soul
Combine me into a whole
Let standards go
Carrying a presence of a mild wind breeze
Never nearing nor ending
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
There is a Softness in the Shadows,
On a breezy, Sun~filled Day.
Splashing Contrast divides the Colors,
trading within the shade,
An interlacing patchwork, Arrangement by Rotation,
Earth's Grandly Spun Bouquet.
Movement amongst the shifting Patterns,
playfulness in~All direction,
Like children chasing randomness, Laughing in the garden
that echoes through with effortless, nonchalant Expression.
Eastwardly to Westwardly,
Tracing loftily between Tree leaves, Mountains broad projectories, deepening the Shadows Shade,
Yawned in stretching reach,
Duality of Accolades,
like Coastlines of a Beach.
Lost in Lover's parting Kiss,
In Amorphous Amore,
Animates explicitly,
A shy Shadow's story.
Into the deep embrace of Night,
A lingering at Sunset's Crest,
Hallowed out in Shadow's shade,
Sewing~dreamy patchwork Seams
of Fabric feathered Sleep.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
thirty years
since Mark gunned you down
thirty years, passed
like a long sleepless night
that ends with taunting morning light
no brilliant sunrise grandly pronouncing
a glorious new dawn of man
although that would have been your plan
with your entreaties to give peace a chance
and imagine, imagine, imagine
now I kneel in this rain gray park
like a reject from some holy ark
a pilgrim in doleful disappointed pose
after seeing what your earthly brothers chose
was not to imagine a world of peace and love
but to wear reality like a cast iron glove
making mockery of your martyred chants
proceeding like a billion scurrying ants
deaf to your childlike pleas
across the soaked soil where your ashes lay
yesterday and today…and tomorrow
I feel the soggy sorrow
that you would have felt
if you could still see
all the rage of humanity
(written 7 years ago on the 30th anniversary of the ****** of John Lennon)
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 2:53 PM UTC
Bells, bells, bells,
I hear mellow bells
Merrier than sea bellows,
Bells, bells, bells,
So, sang a cloud grandly dressed in white.
Bells, bells, bells,
Who canst tell the mellow bells
Merrier than birds of the Vales?
Bells, bells, bells,
Upon my back novelty shores he'll sight.
Bells, bells, bells,
I think I know the bells,
I think I know the bells,
Bells, bells, bells,
So, cheerfully didst reply many a Kite.
For Christmas is here,
For Christmas is near,
Just around the corner
Heralding so fresh a year,
For as fades the sun this year's to avaunt.
Bells, bells, bells,
I think I know the bells,
I think I know the bells,
Bells, bells, bells,
They're but jingo bells—bells of delight.
O, dear Kites hold on tight
Whilst we set for our flight.
So, upon the back of the cloud,
There proudly didst shroud
Many a kite, I say, many a Kite,
And away from human sight
They didst glide and glide,
Yonder a dewy rainbow-like glade,
Yonder silvery whispering rills,
Yonder verdant charming hills,
Yonder so halcyon a limpid indigo sea,
Yonder a realm of many a golden tree,
Yonder a realm of lofty towers,
Where there are opalescent flowers
Well watered by eternal nectar streams
Serpentining by in the land of dreams,
Yonder a rose-scented ineffable clime,
Yonder beyond restrictions of time
Whilst whispering, bells, bells, bells,
To the mellifluous whispers of the bells.
#Onomatopoeic #Diacopic
*Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
21st.Dec.2017. Jumeirah, Dubai.*
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 3:44 PM UTC
Downton Abbey’s going off the air.
I’m not through yet, it’s just not fair.
Nothing before that show ever had
That kind of class, that degree of flair.
Life without my weekly Downton
Is too sad and inordinately scary.
What will I do without my frequent fix
Of the elegantly snarky Lady Mary?
And will the feckless Mister Barrow
Ever develop a true human soul?
I am sure this handsome actor fellow
Will never again get such a meaty role.
And the Dowager Duchess herself,
She is not someone easily done with.
She is, after all, tradition incarnate,
And under all that, she’s Maggie Smith.
Bates and his Anna filled my heart
With alternating sorrow and great joy
Almost as much as a lady of nobility
Marrying the handsome chauffer boy.
Dresses and hair lengths shortened
And nobility began to get real jobs.
All this was before ****** flared up
And turned starving folks into a mob.
I never missed that we were seeing
The transition from ‘la belle epoque’.
That time was running out for that
In the worlds ever-changing clock.
It was a yesterday we never knew
We of the age of electric equality.
We got to look inside and see it
In all its grandly overdressed reality.
I had begun to recognize artwork, in
Lovely strolls through baronial halls
And huge family meals at table.
I am sorry that it is over for us all.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC
~*~
Rising from the earth,
like the native Comanche.
He’s really quite dandy.
Introducing...
President Chimpanzee.
So fierce and strong,
like a banshee—
but brave and cute,
Like little orphan Annie.
No, his name’s not Randy,
or Sandy, or Fannie, or Mandy—
get it right!
The name’s,
Chimpanzee.
You may find him with Andy,
eatin’ nanners in the pantry,
but no need to get antsy—
He’s not getting handy with granny!
I mean, come on—
he’s a chimpanzee!
Oh, that fuzzy man candy.
His ideas—so fancy dancy.
Building a democratic jungle of equality.
A born leader like King Ramsey!
Did you forget him already?
You know the dude...
Chimpanzee.
So, get up, America!
Stop playing with your testies.
Pull up your pantsies.
Go gather all that you can see,
and put them in a frenzy—
with definite intensity,
For the
grandly,
swanky,
vigilante,
Yankee,
of Miami.
Give us liberty.
Give us...
President Chimpanzee.
Jan 27, 2021
Jan 27, 2021 at 4:31 PM UTC
Still and silent,
it sits grandly in the middle of the room,
waiting to be brought to life,
polished ivory,
shiny black and white,
lid lifted and strings visible.
She walks in the door,
it's time now to begin what's been waited for,
the seat creaks as she opens the top,
pulling a book of music out,
and begins to play the beautiful instrument.
Note after note,
the sound resonates,
throughout the space,
filling the void.
Pushing the foot pedals,
she creates many different incredible sounds,
as her fingers lightly move up and down the keys,
she smiles,
and people come to watch her,
not only her,
but the piano as well.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 7:11 PM UTC
i ring the door bell twice
the door opens
there is a boy maybe 4 5
he smiles at me
rustled ***** blonde hair
blue eyes shining seeing into me
knowing me in the basest truth
as only children can know
"Hi. Welcome. Hello."
all rapidly said so politely
i step inside
the house is not too large
not small by any means
this porridge is just right
he leads me in as one who
leads a child to
the den well furnished
the father sits in his chair
watching the boy gratefully
the boy buzzing with
the energy of new company
leaps onto the couch and
announces himself
"My name is Demetri. Nice to meet you.
Welcome to my home. What is your name?"
"Sam"
"Hey, Sam, nice to meet you, Sam."
he flips off the couch grandly
grabs my hand and shakes violently
"Nice to meet you, Sam. Im Demetri.
Welcome to my home. Please, please.
Sit, sit."
He pulls me to the couch
I sit so my arm is not dislocated
he lets go wrist hurting
not the strength of a
4 5 year old boy
a well developed boy well spoken
i look to his father who
watches son lost in amazement
proud as can be as should be
the boy is again in my ear
"What brought you here, Sam? Did you
want to see my house? Did you wanna
see my legos? I got a lot of them. I like
building spaceships. I wanna build a real one.
Hey Sam, you wanna build a spaceship."
no idea how to build a spaceship
"Im here to speak with your father, little guy."
"Really? About what? Huh? About what?
Do you bring things to people? Like presents?
Do you have a present? I think I know
what about. You have a present for my dad.
Is that it, Sam, do you have a present?"
im both annoyed and fascinated
simultaneously by the boy
annoyance why father
has not said something
leash this dog muzzle
however
fascination buzzing by simple fact
i did have something for his father
a present
for the father to keep forever
for the boy to find later
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 8:26 PM UTC
hard soft i'm large and groaning a fit of plastered excellence in my ambrosia fountain of giggling fornication this city is grandly exalting and flustering mightily incense of femmes du *** who art graciously ******* with a their boisterous choir of laughing *** or the men groping seriously their frail fair trackmarked beauty and they finger their air and lush and spit gratuitously their eyes upon their *******
and they like to laugh with their haughty whorish
breath a longing barely chained loosed slowly in splattering
abscesses of lust
; asinine men go and plead sourly your heads in thighs sweating
anorexic *** your Are
is
just
cosmic
lice
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 10:50 AM UTC
Breathing unconscious the air permeating
an oxygen right into lungs finely formed fed
waters so carelessly drunk quenching thirsts,
revitalizing with hydrogens exact innards all.
blood red coursing true from vital forces aplenty
Terra firm formed so right for me to walk straight
finely tilted earth enough for my days and nights
turning over for summers and my springs bright.
Now fine bodies and limbs,a heart pulsing sound,
minds capable bestowed by a time eternity bound
given lovely comrades, mothers, sisters, lovers and
brothers, friends, angels all for me destined especial.
the universe cosmic pandering to me, kind totally,
creating never a God,a cast,creed or a religion sole
but all and everything to survive as a man whole.
why then did I fragment,divide and multiply false?
and How! the mind shut first and then did heart too
geniuses both, discriminating unholy, inventing evils
dividing colors,crazed gods,cruel prophets,races divine
religions irrational unmeant for me but claiming us all
in a class uncaring obscene,a kid now just dead hungry!
what purpose is then of us,the grand senates and fiscals,
our temples,mosques and churches shining,vaults monied.
claiming then minds,hearts,honor, integrity and the self
stating grandly, survive you shall as you are the meek!
and so shall you be starved.raped,killed,burnt! Hell I am,
meek no longer! survive I shall as a king, a queen free!
I reclaim all now,taken from me in false names dastardly
show just my finger mid,for where I was led unwilling
the whole creed sole human,the religion only just humanity.
my will is what i make of my consciousness eternal revealed,
slowly peeling off layers and burdens yolked,reemerging now.
to freedoms anew today, and soon to that day of Armageddon.
I just wanted to count and write a small poem on the numerous natural blessings of Universe and time,but then realized all these are taken for granted and turned to horrible human made curses...now this is neither a prosy poem nor poetic prose. a state of mind?..so here I am..with what ever it is..
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 7:13 AM UTC
The Burden of Creativity
is that somethings I do
somethings I say or think
won't make sense to anybody but me
let's use for example Mr. Kubrick, first name Stanley
who took 178 takes of one scene grandly,
I'm sure everybody was tired and worn into the ground
but The Shining was one of the greatest movies around
so though this may sound self serving to a point
painting pictures with verbs and drawing landscapes with words isn't an easy way to make coin
but that's the curse of Creativity,
a lot of things Don't make sense, even to me
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
thirty years
since Mark gunned you down
thirty years, passed
like a long sleepless night
that ends with taunting morning light
no brilliant sunrise grandly pronouncing
a glorious new dawn of man
although that would have been your plan
with your entreaties to give peace a chance
and imagine, imagine, imagine
now I kneel in this rain gray park
like a reject from some holy ark
a pilgrim in doleful disappointed pose
after seeing what your earthly brothers chose
was not to imagine a world of peace and love
but to wear reality like a cast iron glove
making mockery of your martyred chants
proceeding like a billion scurrying ants
deaf to your childlike pleas
across the soaked soil where your ashes lay
yesterday and today…and tomorrow
I feel the soggy sorrow
that you would have felt
if you could still see
all the rage of humanity
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 11:24 AM UTC
We look past meaning, still blinded and dreaming of riches,
Which leads us toward track homes and condos, cruel chapels
While the hapless live in the world’s mansion: the most open convent
And what we don’t see is sometimes the crux of our content
The streets offer a morose array of the discarded
They, the wise and most wretched, who humbly suffer
Are perhaps the truest, comely Christian-hearted men and women
They bless the day as they pray to the ground
Where cracks become twisted crucifixes upon which
The most selfless are displayed for public derision.
Ironic is the formula written with precision on the tome of our existence
Iconic moments of pain bloom into the banks that loan out inspiration
Each electron is one thousand eight hundred thirty-sixth of its proton
And this proportion, though grandly and numbingly unimpressive
Is the basis upon which we live and whir and spin as matter does
Coincidence is a lie in the face of the certainties within what we cannot see
For, though one decade separated the births of Crockett and Bowie
And, though their names might conjure knives larger than pockets
And hats, stolen from conquered bandit-faced creatures’ tail ends
It was on the same 1836 day that they evolved from flesh into legend.
Joy is a strange element that seems to come and go without a plot
Yet some know how to wield their emotions with little thought
As if joy and love were as a hammer worn neatly at the belt
So, I yearn for one day to grasp a handle in a hand that has never felt
The shape of certainties, once discerned as chance and circumstance
And when the hammer falls, I hope it breaks a twisted crack into my heart
I hope to, from my reflections, thus bereft,
Find some perfection hidden deep in death
As one might decipher, through foreign language,
A light that warms within a sonnet
In a way, I think my life depends upon it.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:35 PM UTC
~~~
when between the table and the fridge,
she wishes to pass,
and I,
obstacle roundly present,
am alerted by a gentle squeeze of my ***
happily acknowledging the purposed duality of her
**cheekiest, sweetest,
signal given**
~~~
a food array presented,
paprika colored roasted chicken,
spaghetti squash salted,
salad with cranberries, candy walnuts,
even raisins hidden within and
all before me placed
she objects little,
with eyes silent uplifted
like two pie rollers in striking position,
when I commence to sup,
with my just dessert
of apple crisp,
that by coming first,
is grandly philosophized,
that today,
"the last shall be first"
~~~
she wakes me prematurely,
her only cause, the intruding concept
of her successfully doing the telling,
first one to win the everyday claiming race,
the first to say on this day,
I love you foremost and also,
"haha I win"
**** it**
~~~
miscreant me,
happy loafer,
habitual offender of other things
that the censors here,
would not permit explicitly disclosing,
for which she looks wise away,
mumbling only
"half of his
addiction to cinnamon raisin loaf,
still, far, far, better
than none"
~~~
I know she loves me cause:
1) she likes unfailingly every one of my poems
(a half truth)
2) she loves best, faithfully,
those she loves the best,
that are the ones that release,
without permission asked,
those that come with a side of tissues,
at the ready,
to be emergency issued
those tissues
I call,
the ladies-in-waiting for
the gentlest stream of tears
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 6:00 PM UTC
She was a spectacular tree.
People called her the flame of the forest,
for she was obviously striking, vivid and classy.
I need not narrate the superlative majesty
of the flame – tree, for one time or the other
we have all been breath-taken by her peerless glamor.
What matchless artistry!
I am here to quickly share
my ruminative gloom for that lovely assembly
of flower, leaf and wood, which grandly stood
in a grove of possibilities, and possibilities can be
such a torment, such a calamity.
❋
For years galore, caterpillars of choices
had been steadily eating away at her core.
They came from different directions,
at different trajectories,
with varied objectives
and fluctuating proclivities.
Sometimes, they came rushing in as family,
and sometimes they came slowly,
a little formally, a bit watchfully,
somewhat officially.
At times they came in fiery fascination
and yet, ever so often, they were charged
with marauding indignation.
Many times they arrived as blazing ambition,
but more often than not, combusted the flamboyance
leaving behind an ashen illusion.
Oh.....those craving larvae
of oblique, wily opportunities.
❋
The foliage was feverishly guzzled
till photosynthesis was no more possible.
From my distant window from where I had once
watched her variegated flair,
I felt the Poinciana moan in simmering despair.
❋
With biting sensitivity, I still look on, a tad tearfully,
as she continues to tumble into conscious torpidity.
My words may slip and sway, as with each wilting leaf
after each withering floret, she progresses towards
an abject decay;
imploding methodically, and transposing gradually
from being the flame of the forest
to being a sprouting forest of flames.
Jan 22, 2020
Jan 22, 2020 at 9:11 AM UTC
After you involuntarily defected
I managed to find words others selected
to grandly commemorate your life
When I read of the third person you
and try to embrace elegiac points of view
I have to admit I feel…nothing
Maybe there is some cyber symphony
playing in the sky you can no longer see
pounding on so many drums you can no longer hear
But I keep reading my “google bible” verse
and try to imagine the funeral crowds disperse
once the scripted lamented chants are silent
Soon the vicissitudes of chemistry will prevail
and the third person you will set sail
to the land of oblivion, until I find another eulogy
or someone writes one for me
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 8:19 PM UTC
Sunrise quiet
hiking through
the dropping blush of autumn
the morning after election day
inside the trails of forested
trees that were not allowed
a vote
coming upon a canyon
splitting
the un-United States
down the spine
pondering the illusion
of human separation
We reach down and *****
a bridge
sweeping
over the chasm
Next,
we tie a rope swing
to the oak branches above
and unmoor the canoes
from the cedar docks below
Americans stand on
each side,
holding up
similar signs
clear in
truth and oneness
our shared desires
and basic needs
The signs
reading;
Freedom
Safety
Health
Respect
Home
Work
Joy
&
repeating grandly,
over
and over;
******
Love.
Slowly,
as the drops
of dew transform
to puddles
and the sun
lifts to crown
us all in lemon light
we raise up
our shovels
and begin
the work of
filling in the
imaginary
canyon
That once
suffered
divide.
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 11:57 AM UTC