PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Satchel your whims

     they tentacle in solid horizon

     silent until they flee

     a harvesting glad will

     & smooch moons gleefully



This melt of tyrant

     impetus rocks

     our wall's giddy flame



All the sources wait before

     prime mover rests

     a weary mind in it's ready cradle



Count our blessings

     count them

     census them



Send them giftbaskets



Warn them of floods and epiphanies



Of desire's sleep

     and count them again

     by name by birth

     order

     write them

     in new languages

     and set them



Free across a blessless wasted lane



To caress the passing minstrals



This song is sung

     in pentacle

     in sordid origin it wends through muscles lax

     and harvest dances over the moon's

     mere gleam



Cradle our thoughts

     tomorrow as they crowd the manger

     brightly as they bear sons



And daughters away

     with the light of futures

     and breath of weary miles



Count our blessings

     count them most as windows

     censor them



Send them packing



Wear them on your sleeve



The broken spine of night's folly

     count them again

     by name by their velocities

     write them down

     with invisible words

     and sail them

     grasping everywhere



Freely across the world's dry seabeds



Until they slumber in the hearts of pelicans winging