"testifying" poems
me? these days?
i have to bribe bonsai tigers
to fall asleep by giving them
excess treats,
drink myself to a limit
and then take insomnia tablets,
glance at the stars
and gag up a bolshevik black hole,
think about russian
newly-wed millionaires
spending so mcuh the taxes go up,
testifying: well when the full circus
with elephants and missing acrobats
comes... and there's no french revolution
versace... we're in bigger crap
we thought we were...
so i took to peddling, keeping heart
rate with feeling rather than
a heart-rate keeper on the wrist known
as apple / iWank...
you'll never believe the amount
of creativity that comes from Onan...
it's like that story of onan and samson
like it's that story of cain and abel...
you'd have to be a mozart to find a creative
continuum in women rather than
beethoven in the hive of being deaf...
say rich and thus say spend...
say poor and thus say like a primate
with two flint stones... what the hell is this?!
japanese crow reduced their beak for
nut crushing purposes into a car tire.
FIRE! FIRE! PROMETHEUS!
so came the world favouring thought
from prometheus' liver
when in diaper-shelter postman pat delivery
by a stork... but each of us that got the slit
of liver never claimed origins in the apple
adam ******* out when eve forgot
that satan's singularity was expressed in
a pluralism: eat this apple, depilate,
and you and adam will be like the gods...
but then the metrosexual emerged
with shaved legs and a shaved chest...
down the drain that dream went:
as long as you eat the apple and know
you have hairy legs... i'm sure whatever you
say he will be ordained with pleasure to perform...
eve - i need a hammer
adam - here babe
eve - i need a nail
adam - here babe
eve - i need five planks of wood, four legs one like an abdomen
adam - here babe
eve - mash it up
adam - hey babe, what's that?
eve - a ****** table, tapestry for porcelain!
adam - woah! that's great!
eve to god - this adam is a ****** robot!
satan to eve - well... get ready for ******
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
Sipping espresso, double affogato of course, topped with cream and
Chatting with Miles, I saw Calliope sauntered in from the rain.
Her dark mascara limped away from her crystal blue eyes
As she waited for the barrister to turn his head.
And when taking her cup,
Somewhere between Bird’s schizophrenic riffs
And Blakey's syncopation.
I fell in love
As I watched her lips purse and
Blow casually at the lid, cooling the
Fiery liquids inside but igniting mine.
I decided to ask what brought her in from the
Rain.
My words queued in my throat as I stood
To speak.
My knees cracked, testifying to the years I stood on them.
My heart tapped out a cadence as I strode
Over to her table.
I could smell spice and ginger of a perfume I knew so well.
Her chestnut hair fell in damp tendrils across her forehead.
Extending my hand with a napkin on the end I said, “ I would love if you joined
Me for a biscotti.”
With a sparkle in her eye her painted lips slid across her teeth,
“I am waiting for a friend.”
Walking away I sat dejected but not rejected because as she
Conversed with him she peeked at me
My Calliope
And all was well.
~AD~
Apr 2, 2010
Apr 2, 2010 at 2:48 PM UTC
Table salt without pleasing flavor is useless,
like a weak Christian lacking “good works”;
for the World is in need of divine examples
of how to live within the Kingdom’s framework.
There are many souls craving spiritual waters,
to have their endless abyss of thirst quenched.
Are we testifying of God’s Love to reach those
in strongholds- where they’re firmly entrenched?
Unless there are obvious and significant change
in the personal behavior of our everyday lives,
the World will have no real motivation for faith
when there’s no evidence of transcendent lives.
We’re still called to be the salt of this planet,
demonstrating victorious lives as saved brothers;
As Christians, we’re supposed to add loving flavor.
We’re responsible for generating thirst in others!
.
.
.
Author Notes
Loosely based on:
Matt 5:13; Jam 2:14-26
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
We headed south that night
Right down the highway towards our new life
Sunny Olde California here we come
Everyone wants to be in Cali
Me, I don't understand why
The sun's too hot
It's so crowded
Too many famous people
What's so great about California?
Why does everyone want so badly to move to Cali?
But now I understand why we left
Why we left our comfortably modern house in Vancouver
Vancouver had everything we needed
All the love and support we needed
Everything we needed was there in our small little town
But now we are moving to Sacramento
One thousand four hundred and thirty seven kilometers
Fourteen hours of driving
I finally understood why she did it all
She was taking us away from him
So he wouldn't hurt us anymore
When the court date came
We all had to testify
I wasn't sure what I was testifying against
But somehow I answered and answered til I broke down
After my endless crying
They gave up on me
I wasn't fit to testify she'd say
But I understand why
I was too young to understand but now I do
He came in all sunshine and lollipops
We all thought he was going to stay
Stay forever and never leave
He left in handcuffs and bruises
We never saw him again
Until my mother dragged us all down to the jailhouse
He was leaving...for good
The apologize really didn't matter to me
See I didn't understand, but now I do
I understand why everyone wants to be in Cali
You become like an ant
You are invisible
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
I am not testifying my emotion with the poetry, I am
atoning to it.
I write about God like a friend but we
Haven't been speaking.
I confess my sins to
Whoever will play the part.
When I write about how quiet the moon has been,
I am saying I'm sorry.
My lack of honesty is writers-block.
I crave all of the hurt. I
Torture myself into unhappiness.
I have this habit of starting things I don't
Finish and they're usually letters
Bursting with nameless blame.
I shut down in the middle of
My emotions because they are too loud, I substitute
all of my connections for a painless quiet.
I am cold because it is easier than being warm,
Than getting burned, than being honest. I am cold
because it is easier than saying that
I am selfish in love. I drain, consume
devour everything that touches me and I
Don't know how to stop taking.
When I write about how I am scared that
Love and violence sound the same from an empty bed, I am saying I'm sorry.
I am not presenting my pain with the poetry,
I am conceding to it.
I can't take a pen to paper without punishing myself with the ink.
When I write about a fence with vines encasing the wood,
About neglect, about a garden full of overgrown weeds and
A cold house, I am saying
Forgive me.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 3:24 AM UTC
d'harga'h! urn! and sung clemency with the sign of the cross - Mr. Longinus - a baptism awaits...
in the Turkish shop buying my beers -
politics talk, gone Razza - Tahir -
talk of politics - deciphered a word:
Erdoğan (Erdoghan, Edrogrzan,
what was it - macabre radish to taste -
niechmaj sto Vlad'a reka na tle kiwnieniem raz!
i krok poza 'sztem! bogiem byka wybryk
szto?! - the crowds descended, and the kestrels
and the pigeons, and the swans,
and the migratory storks, and the seagulls -
for the Winged-Hussar Polonaise.
fluff of the wings -
the Mongol stench
reinterpreted - i rather be picking
ethnic mushrooms - kropki polka -
and koniewki - łopieniek & canary -
grünling in German, gąska zielonka - Pan Kleks -
or Chanterelle Mushroom - pepper shakerz -
kurki, tzn. te słynne grzyby.
the deviating kurka - or chickpea foetal
variant of fungus - or alias chick.
each time they pithy my assertion to claim the
ethnic brothel of Europe that Poland is for
the noble families - each time they undermine
the worker testifying the fuck-worthy ****
prior sleep - pride settles in -
and a long forgotten assertive builds up
to architectural proportions -
it just ends up being a game of throwing
copper coins into Scotland, potatoes into Ireland...
and dinosaur bones into Wales...
and post-colonial subjects into England, lazily
packed with the labels **** and Hindu;
Karzimierz Dębski could have said: it was never
supposed to come to this; shame that it did;
the safety option was exacted.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
Coming In Through Dark Portals
Surfacing Mind Testifying
Death of Mine Explainable
Venomous Gland Strikened with Clout
Although Cold Breath of Life Still Warm
Risen Again Before Long
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 2, 2010 at 8:59 AM UTC
“I cannot be what I ought to be, unless you are what you ought to be, and you cannot be what you ought to be unless I am what I ought to be.”.
Martin Luther King
**tonight, saw a woman
dance to these words...**
body precision pinpoint akimbo shaking,
testifying with every limb,
this be, a sensible truth....
**the music of the words,
no music
but the words, uttered in his kingly voice,
that
was the only instrument present,
more than sufficient...**
long after, the theater dark,
audience and dancers,
dispatched onto the
New York City dark despairing winter's icing streets,
I am tasting them on my tongue,
out loud as they should be spoke....
**not going to essay, meaning plain,
not going diminish their simplicity....**
but this I can say,
this will feed my consciousness,
a long time coming....
and I will be
that much
closer
to who
I
ought to be
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 12:15 AM UTC
it occurs to me
as for a Saturday sunrise,
I'm awaiting,
witness testifying
to the
glory of the glorious,
which color-selected sky today is
pale young girl
wallpaper pink aglow dominatrixed
it occurs to me
there are probably
Thousands
of us
composing, lyric evolving,
at this exact
same minute
all over the world
see visionary behind the eyelids
scenarios, YouTube videos,
all my own, of
words tumbling,
letters individual
joining up, forming,
breaking bad,
reforming,
until and unto
combinations satisfactory
falling
from the sky
fresh direct into our heads,
the random draw
of what we will
"create"
regifted from the universe
this was my daily selection, bread,
that I did not choose, but make believe,
I did
our only choice,
none
here I am again smiley face,
as it occurs to me,
grinning silly
thinking
I can improve
on sunrises and
poems that arrived
fully formed...
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 7:33 AM UTC
immutable silence induced
bombardment caused by
birth of a ghost punctually
derived from fresh air
with no emotion or sympathy
dead sensitivity parted lips
yellow eyes staring
back at us brought about
soil rising in magnetic induction
eclectic charges polarized
currents shifted spirit width
ram nizzle threshold nicked
blowing with the wind Niz
blessed peace upon him
bright phoenix wings
extend beyond lenses
above a star shining
wide owl rings protrude
subatomic grime regarded
sewn in fabric of humanity
testifying coldhearted
exemplar charisma donated
hidden aspects of demeanor
derive lives of love deprived
occupy truth in dreams
until kingdom come
nightmares relieved taking
there place revelation revealed
in benediction bleeding out
chests shattered by the light
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 8:36 PM UTC
*creepy night river awake like a fever
as fireflies glow in furtive morse code
the eerie evening commands silence
in the hollow empty spaces yielded
in sonorous silences by a yawning dearth
of everything that's sacred, pure and sweet
once there was raw laughter and joy here
and weavers wove rich tales of fat worms
for their pampered nestlings afloat on air
once there was life and presence here
but now small spaces abound in this vast absence
of sunshine smiles and catwalk swinging
now it's plovers, owls and night jars galore
as their apocalyptic cries smite the night
like a plague in New Canaan where glory
is never too far away from the surface gloss
of a loveliness kidnapped by the salacious gods
of lewd desires and morbid libidos alive in tales
that are forever testifying to the loud presence
of envious divinities on a free ride upon our egos
everything is gone now but the thunderous silence
and the smiles that lit up our days are now but a memory
of wan looks and faded joys clad in the hollow feelings of pain
and that's all that ever remains when our futile antics are done*
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
- Stay away plagiarizers - (ß?)
and who the **** would want
to plagiarise you?! i'm guessing nobody,
let's become serf-like ignoble,
let's keep this capitalism afloat....
oh, got the feelings awry?
can't mix the Koran
with capitalism... someone's
bound to suffer with, or without
the Royce Rolls...
you better be awake
when testifying for Moroccans
as equivalent of Napoleon
taking a **** on the throne of thrones
and tongue waggle and **** to boot...
as the Led Zeppelin immigrant song,
i just keep conjuring Genghis Khan...
and we're done when the horde erects
a cranium pyramid of skulls at Baghdad....
we didn't come to these islands as *******
we came here as Williams...
the Muslims could teach donkeys a half trot
to what we were establishing,
and it wasn't pretty, we were disgruntled with
expectancy lost along the way...
the Muslims could teach them post-colonialism,
so they agreed, crafting a new India
and prayers for the Hijab preserved...
they teach me one more ************* time
i'll start preaching with agile pursuit, duping
their endeavours for an Ian Fleming novel and why
spies have no regard for a C.V.,
never mind the hope for a person who might provide
me a suicide vest:oh sure i'm tickling
the authorities... i want them to spy on me...
i want them to become paparazzi:
when the two parties mingle we get comparative swoons:
Lucifer and Icarus.
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 9:20 PM UTC
You can live your life as if it's a constant chore
Come to Peace and live so much more!
Enjoy every frown
Every sigh of those in stress
Because they are perplexed
Remember that Life is a mission your on
Stay in focus of where you belong!
Only you know the truth in your heart to be true,
Yet still,
Our Father is always with you
Acts 20:24 However I consider my life worth nothing to me, if only I may finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me- the task of testifying to the gospel of God's grace.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
You always made it known
protested with a ***** and moan
about how my lips curled around cigarettes
when you aren’t home.
Testifying in a patronizing tone
that someday I’d end up alone
if the habit wasn’t thrown.
You just envied
the way they were slowly ******* my life
wishing you still had that power.
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 12:31 AM UTC
Deep breaths as I stand by the sea
Each step colder as I draw closer
Debating on what direction to take
Trying to ignore my feelings
As my head and I argue on the choice to make
My head reminds me of love and warmth
And the dream of a home built on mutual admiration
It then reminds of how every kiss and hug sparks butterflies and chemistries
But then I present my case
Telling my head that things are not what they appear to be
Calling my feelings as a witness
Testifying that sadness comes after every expression of desire
Loneliness comes after every proclamation of love
And yet a sight draws me closer
And I become addicted to the drug that is her
I plead for daily doses
Scratching my head as a result of the low supply
Dragging each dose like my life depended on it
And dying inside due to the toxic nature of it
I wake up in different mind cities
Hallucinating a perfect world
Avoiding the reality at all cause
But it’s just my mind that has been corrupted
Blocking my vision of truth
And so I plead with my head to see reason with my feelings
Begging for a chance for therapy
To loosen myself from the bounds of this toxicity
Cause with just a few steps closer towards the sea
There will be nothing left of me
For people see.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 6:15 AM UTC
i'm always ashamed because i'm doing live editing, and because of live editing, i can never really appreciate my work, as if it was stored in a cabinet drawer, unseen and unread by a curious passer-by, this live editing fuels a feeling of shame... but it also fuels: iftaḥ yā simsim (open sesame)!
the success of u.s.e.
(united states of europe
homogenised
into a monochromatic
use of the english tongue)
will be built upon the
failures u.s.a.
and the failure to feel
guilt for Hiroshima & Nagasaki
like the implemented
guilt the Germans are fed
with Auschwitz...
we have a cold war to stage
the actor's stage fright in
raising up a hand and a cold
hearted democratic ink blotch
of the testifying index finger
that meddled in the shuffling-chess
affairs of electors and parliaments;
it's not that relative things matter
(only einstein could have pulled that off
somehow giving us ripples
of vacuum when space and time collided
without poetic agreement about
fluctuated nostalgia of expression),
we're all abhorrent of moral relativism,
but not taking blame for
the two neutron bombs makes
me a bit sceptical about where this
train is going: it's hardly Zion,
but certainly the fenced in Israel.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
In my mind
There is a vision
Precision
Is the key
And me?
I can hardly breathe
When she speaks to me
The world is hazy
It's crazy
How much I'm in to her
As I try to learn
Everything about her
She can make me smile
Just by saying hi
And I
Just can't help but be lifted
I'm gifted
In this situation
And patience
Is non-existent
I'm persistent
And head over heels
I wonder how she's real
Break the seal
And steal
My heart
My art
Seems to flow
And I know
It's you
Bringing through
Testifying to
The sky
I'm high
Just from you
Tell me?
What should I do
I barely knew
But I can't stop thinking about you
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 5:07 PM UTC
[April 16, 2017]
Crowded streets consume hopeless dreams
Corrupted gold steals, rivers become streams
Worthless beings banished, broken by fiends
Promises laced open, arteries bleed free
Hearts pumping ink, poison-stained anguish
Quills drip onto paper, all traces vanish
Thoughts slowly disappear, a distorted canvas
Twisted madness transformed deformed misshapen sadness
Harassed cruelly, misguided torment annihilates the mind
Contained within an asylum, shackled vastness confined
Shattered emptiness swallows fear, insanity driven blind
Decay crumbles away, chains reverberate shallow decline
Deteriorating steel rusts, frozen grains resume counting time
Radioactive bars disintegrate, evaporating their sickening crime
Eroding cells collapse, withering bitter resentment forgetting lies
Fools rupture silent dread, fracturing emotional fabricated demise
Flood gates burst aside, exposing rotten corpses buried alive
Burial mounds subside, testifying denied truth deprived
Sacrifices revived, divided liars welcome falsified alibi
Until tools are in pieces, embracing awaited suicide
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 9:02 PM UTC
Sterile white cast a sharp sillhouette
Againt burgundy--
That swam with shadowy velvet
And creamy blurs of silk
Each so like a soft brush stroke
Save for that sterile white
In its clean geometry;
And the carpet installed short and durable
By hopeful design it would last
Through years of dance-worthy occasions
Ballroom turf bled into my hiding place
Stippling my palms pink
As my weight shifted
And I leaned into the wafting scents
Of ladies' perfumes and catered delicacies
Every time the table cloth rippled
Out of fear or respect from passerby
Even shimmied with the clinking of glasses
Above the dull congratulatory murmur of guests
Later they would all be drunk
And murmur would turn to ruckus
But then, only indistinguishable voices
Too they were far away, drifting almost
Enough
I imagined nothing but that white
Sterile still, pure
And matrimonially sweet
The tiny bride and groom testifying from atop
But a plan was already in motion
To hide and wait;
The waiting was done
So young, as I was
Finding nothing so sacred I couldn't soil it
Found the oppurtunity to touch my tongue to it
That white, I wouldn't say sterile
But oh so sweet.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
i have no problems with your light.
truely, my problems stay away from your light.
more-so to dodge your sight
your attention to detail
that has you judging them,
befriending them
and inviting them to every conversation you have with me.
they'd much rather give into the darkness
its where they
glow and stick
out from the rest of the particles hidden hostage in the darkness.
well,
there's intimacy here.
testifying to walls with unconditional secrecy
there's validation here.
with shame and awkward locked outside by security
there's freedom here,
a conversation unlike yours,
for confessions to undress lies and opinions
peeling them away to address the truth . . .
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 7:58 PM UTC
Congress has numerous duties
With oversight being one.
The president's decided that
Such oversight he will shun.
In other words, he chooses to thumb
His nose at our Constitution.
His lackeys in Congress refuse to defy him,
Fearing his nasty retribution.
Refusing to cooperate with
The lawful demands of Congress, he
Thinks that he's above the law,
Which justifies an inquiry.
Occurring at the moment is
A constitutional crisis, which
The president craftily plans
To pull off without a hitch.
Defying subpoenas and trying to silence
Witnesses' testimonies,
He's rejecting checks and balances
With the help of some of his cronies.
The president seems to think
That certain people should be exempt
From testifying. But watch as they
All are cited for contempt.
Americans deserve to know
What is really happening here.
Trump's obstruction of justice and his
Abuse of power are something to fear.
What it boils down to is this:
It's Trump versus the truth. That's it!
If you dig deep, you will find
What motivates the hypocrite.
If his record were squeaky clean,
Hearings could be set aside.
However, his suspicious behavior
Keeps us wondering, "What's there to hide?"
-by Bob B (5-9-19)
May 9, 2019
May 9, 2019 at 11:16 AM UTC
though thine wife gladly
(and long time ago)
verily swept passed
her final child bearing year
this house broken husband
genuinely hankers to father
(yes sire re:to set sea men
"NOT FAKE," nor NONGMO
free and reduced)
and longingly participate
in parenthood again
donning baby proof couture wear
analogous (as aye imagine dragons
fire breathing worth tolerating),
those who fervently veer
yearning to undergo
*** reassignment surgery (SRS)
with unintentional surgeon's delicate tear
aye thru thoroughly anesthetized flesh,
(especially genitals under going
transformational substantial removal
via said - bravely bite ting the bullet -
sharp pinching shear)
contemplating, formulating, issuing
personal specifications to cutting crew
validating, testifying recapping re: questing
genitals do not reappear
since significant surgery purport, some hetero
****** person might **** sitter queer
yet no doubt a homosexual
and/or lesbian would ap pear
to understand completely if *****
didst unwittingly accidentally overhear
confidential conversation,
yet warmly reassured the speaker,
they did not intend to get near
enough to glean enough information
that said transexual could reduce wardrobe
with women and/or menswear
and this once distraught,
distressed, and distributed
without willingness unfairly
fated to live stemmed,
undoubtedly wrought from ****** misalignment,
would post surgery
hover off the ground and modestly
swagger off into the sunset
(this scenario projection strictly of mine)
anyway ***** could map out in one direction
destiny describing,
an upswinging trajectory linear
once future freed where gender now nsync
with physical gonadal accouterment
unconcerned if urge arises
to swivel derriere with flare.
-------------------------------------
matthew scott
highland manor apartments
schwenksville, pennsylvania
19473
USA
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
The periapt otiose stone helotage that the tactiturn builders
Rejected at Golgotha, bode the heart of Heaven has now
Become the corner-stone henting the regal worm of worms
With temerity of the spire of spires; And they look ignominious
Upon the necromancer that they pierced testifying a vision of
Living beings, a saviour, an insuperable scorned man,
The maxim of kings, the miracle man of blood and water
Invidiously feeling despised crying out loud;
''Eloi, Eloi, Lema Sabachthani'',
Whom the ill-starred crucified and divided purloin his robes
At the rolling of dice. Yet still God raised from death much alike
The Nazarene himself had disintered Lazarus, resurrecting after
Four days his friend buried at Bethany; alike too Tabitha
Which (Simon), Peter, presented before the widows and believers
commanding alive in the name of the Almighty Holy Lord
From the clutches of the darkened Sun, clinging to the
Dark side of the moon within a star-less sky
Annointed the way to the Father.
ELEETE J MUIR
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 9:35 PM UTC
Blessed are we who have fallen from The Tower
Blessed are we
Scraping fingernails ****** on the glass ceiling,
Licking at the heels of heroes with broken knuckles who tried to bust through to heaven,
Burning sage for the sake of all the dead spirits waiting around to come alive,
Contemplating reality through thick rimmed glasses wreathed in flame,
Counting credit card taps on tables while buzzing out of fragile bones for the next high,
Sleeping half awake in dreams of red wine and brighter futures,
Hallucinating city lights on balconies in a gin soaked haze of grandeur,
Holding out for wayward outcast brothers and sisters to come by and hear us preach revolution,
Selling burdens in parking lots for the price of a pack of cigarettes and a ride home,
Sobbing on strangers shoulders on Greyhound bus rides to ruin,
Offering confessions at the feet of angels we couldn't begin to understand but loved regardless,
Zigzagging through tree lines on another half drunk run from the police,
Shooting for the stars from the hip and blowing violent holes in the roofs of the places we called home instead,
Living indefinitely in the crawl spaces between endless Purgatory cycles of rise and relapse,
Blessed are we sleeping restless in the suburbs,
Testifying to the suffering in Dayton,
Swimming strung out through the Cincinnati streets,
Robbed blind in Columbus,
Praying the South might take us back if we just said we were sorry
Blessed are we who have fallen from The Tower,
Blessed are we who still have so much farther to fall
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 2:54 PM UTC
A center stripe on such a road would be no more than affectation,
The prospect of two vehicles on the same stretch of this blacktop
Which ambles from nowhere to nowhere, old logging path
Morphed into a convenience for fishermen or bird watchers
Heading to the odd bits of Adirondack Park land
Scattered higgeldy-piggeldy in its path
All but a mathematical impossibility.
Indeed, the fog lines are barely visible, a series of dots and dashes
Along the crumbling berm of the shoulders,
And the signs testifying to the calamitous curves ahead
Are faded and pock-marked
In testament to generations of pellet-gun marksmanship
And twelve-ounce projectiles.
There remain the odd traces of the byway’s former usefulness:
Rusted blades or unevenly-spoked wheels
Left behind by ancient logging outfits,
The odd abandoned hunting camp, and here and there,
Visible through gaps in thick, ancient stands of pine
(Having outlasted the original settlers and logging concerns
Through the sheer stubborn implacability of biology),
You might see an anomalous abandoned bus up on blocks,
And there are those who have sworn they have seen them
Adorned with curtains in the windows,
But that is most certainly a trick of the light,
A mis-apprehension of something half-glimpsed
By the drivers as they sped by.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 8:11 PM UTC