Friday, March 7, 2014

Yet another two poems

So, greater community of blog-readers, how do you maintain that school-girl complexion amidst the arcane drudgeries of your daily existence?


Truth, I have read or heard somewhere,
Lives in a well. An unpleasant dwelling
But the rent is low and Truth most times
Admires the uncompromising frogs there
And can see the stars clearly, even at noon.

Love, a shepherd said, is usually found
Amongst the rocks on a barren shore
Bruising his feet continually
But aware of how well he looks
Tousled by the winds, staring at the water.

On Fifth and Main, on St. John’s Eve
They meet in a certain low bar.
Truth tries to pick up the waitress
Saying “You’re as pretty as others
I’ve seen in other bars” while Love
Swirls the liquor in his glass.
They do this every year and Truth
Never listens to his advice.


A coin not of this realm found its way
(After adventures I cannot describe)
Into my pocket. It was of wood,
Something close-grained and very heavy,
And bore my picture, save that my nose
Had been broken and my left eye
Was gone. After three days my shadow
Showed clear signs of disaffection
Following me reluctantly or making
Curious quick gestures I could only half-see.
A week or so later other shadows
Startled and then knelt and in my dreams
Churches long gone to dust rebuilt themselves
And rang their bells backwards.

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