"parisan" poems
To be a poet is the end goal you achieved it
What did I acheive?
You reincarnated me,
not as a animal or a human.
Not even a life form for that matter,
But you put me in a sonnet in a cluster of words.
I’m not religious as such but
my god poets can resurrect.
Feeling in a simple rhythm
The physicality of it is uncanny
Words that I wish would slip past my tongue.
My god poets can resurrect.
What pleasure is must be to bloom so sweetly.
Does the words come quickly?
Once I find my hand,fingers and knuckles.
Pen to paper, finger to lips would it come naturally?
We will see if I can bring air back into lungs deflated by time.
May I stumble to present my work.
Or hold my tongue as they look at the beginning.
My god poets can resurrect.
Must I find sense of place?
Drip a cigarette between my fingers
Papered apartment full of hero’s of song,who now quite as you write the new.
Ability coming naturally you insisted.
Do I not need a Parisan perspective.
Or do I need ordinary to flourish private extraordinary.
My god poets,poets...can
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
i am gallant in another world
the girl with rimmed glasses
and a Parisan top
in white slacks reading the guardian weekly.
I have no need for men
they are too needy
who trip over in the firmament
unlike my further dreams
of calico cats in the shade
and my friend Jane
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC