ABOUT POETRY

Yes.

And in it lies the essence of the thing;

That not the word itself, but its emotive content,

Is what counts.

Of course, the placement of the words,

The context and the juxtaposition of syllables

Also have their place.

Then too we must consider the rhythms,

The metre, and the beat of the words;

The syncopation and the alliteration

Which put together make up that which is called

Poetry.

Oh yes, and lastly

There is that which for want of a better word

I must call talent.

Well, I hope that’s cleared up any misconceptions,

And if there’s anything I’ve left unsaid

You know where to find me.

But this short note is written that you might begin to understand

And not forget to cultivate your sense of wonder.

As for me, I am simply fascinated by the sounds that words make

When you bang them together.

MESSAGE FOR VICTORIA

You should have seen us, Victoria!

Out there on those hills no man should ever tread;

On the freezing sands beneath that burning sun…

Lord God!  You should have seen us then, Victoria,

When I needed you.

With the blood still drying fresh upon our wounds,

We met each day with blind hope and faith

Because it was all we had.

By night, we slept beneath the open stars,

Or in the shelter of the wounded rocks

When the radiation counter registered less than we already had;

On the third day we threw it away.

And by day, Victoria, we walked those freezing sands,

Which cut into our feet, tearing our boots to ribbons –

We left Johnny by the big rock

In the middle of the glassy plain;

He said he was happy there, and we should leave him.

On the fifth night, we met a rainstorm.

That was what killed us, Victoria.

Not your tearing sand or your bug-eyed radiation,

Or even your freezing Martian night –

But the acid rain, which found us without shelter.

Tell them we tried, Victoria,

Tell them we tried…

 

¡NO LO HICIERE!

The look on his face had a quality

Which could only be described,

As he handed me the tablet of stone

On which these words were inscribed;

“No graven images ye shall make,

Or even carve a matchstick,

Nor cast in iron, bronze or steel,

Or, worst of all, in plastic!”

INCAPOD

Incapod, Incapod, where did you been?

I been a Londrés pour visit le Queen.

Incapod, Incapod, what did you did?

I stoled a banana and now it is hid.

Incapod, Incapod, what did you buy?

Why should I tell you, you might be spy!

Incapod, Incapod, - what did you say?

(But there was no answer, he’d faded away…)

SWIFTLY, SOFTLY, SLOWLY, DIE

Thinking, drinking, linking, shrinking,

Swiftly, softly, slowly die.

Waking, shaking, looking, shrieking,

Creeping from my cradle, cry.

Creeping, peeping, crawling, weeping,

Slinking slowly, silent by –

            Thinking, drinking, linking, shrinking,

Swiftly, softly, slowly, die.

FINI

Slowly die.  Your life is ended.

The darkness of the grave is here.

Your life is gone, but not its shadow –

Cold thing, your whimp’ring spirit hovers near.

Leave now.  Go find your Eden.

Leave before the worms are come.

Dust to dust, and ash to ashes –

The cycle turns, and you are gone.