“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Friday, September 29, 2017
Tenacity
The air being pulled
from the right to the left,
lets up only to adjust and
regrip its hold
on hills.
The ants do not recede,
do not retreat in holes.
Armies have assembled
along the walls, there is no
start, no end, like this wind
no safe seal.
The papers pile up under the
evenings in red and
drip down for later.
Ideas fly out the window
lifting hairs, touching
elsewhere,
never landing as said.
Painting By Antonio Parreiras (1860 - 1937) – Painter (Brazilian) Born in NiterĂ³i, Brazil. Dead in NiterĂ³i, Brazil. Details of artist on Google Art Project [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Tres (trace)
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...
No comments:
Post a Comment