anthropomorphic animals

four legs four legs on the ground
untainted smooth
inertia bound

there it hides
its hiding there
safe from them
there is nowhere
go stop run
run stop go
from flesh, that flesh
that’s white as snow

must cut away her utility…

when it goes
where it stops
gets trampled underfoot
route unnamed
smudged by earth
man’s untimely soot

must appreciate his underbelly…

polluted vagaries
nest, pack, herd,
colony, turmoil
gaggled words
shrewdness,
heard
the silent sound
tribe, cackle, richness
boom band bound

must reexamine my duel motives…

pride and mob, school and pod
pride and school emergent mob
efforting while in sexual season
sucking up to tainted treason

dissonance parleys the uninformed
murdered the goddamn unicorns
call and alarm all shadows here
their fur hides hide our naked fear
no more, no more, I beg no more
uncork the apple from the boar
knocking, crippling, maturing hell
alarm a shadow, crack the bell

oh, Theodor please help me…

up it stands
on his hands
she be down
on the ground
all replete
on 2 feet
no longer
balking
they are walking
no more
walking
they are talking
walking
talking
when it goes
where it stops
no one knows
oh, but I do

polluted hearts
dirty forms
chatting animals
form the norm

it is never too late, darling…

four legs four legs on the ground
only two now make a sound
earth burnt souls melt in the fold
low bones whisper words foretold…

Interred/change
I couldn’t admit how I adored you
my dead heart must now implore you
so simple back then, my oh my
my Theodor’s eyes in absentia cry
skull-homageI generally don’t attempt rhyme but something grabbed hold of me this morning (perhaps a sprite from last night๐Ÿ˜‰), Animal Farm on the brain while reading youngster Rimbaud’s pain (I admit sadly for the first time)…

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A Red Rhyme at Blue 14

I adored when the 4:30 movie featured Vincent Price playing characters straight out of Edgar Allen Poe stories. Images of men strapped to tables โ€“ sharp pendulums making slow descents โ€“ are forever sliced into my brain. Remarkably, my young teenage journal from those influential Poe Days, has withstood the test of time. Here’s a piece from my 14-year-old, drama-infused self.

If I should die in silence
what reason would there be
to have no other hands
share in my misery
so I shall ne’er expire
’cause I can’t cry for me

Paper Shadow

Paper Shadow

May you dream of pristine poetry in rhythmic lines of slumber…and if there are teens in your life, may they be happy and drama-free. ๐Ÿ™‚

Poem written in 1977, graphic created with Prisma pencil in 2014 ๐Ÿ™‚