The value of a thoughtful penny

One.
Few to none will tell me
the ultimate futility
of poetry
although
I already know
how few
understand
(me).

Many people prefer a pretty penny
over poverty, and honestly, I see
and I confess, I do too-possess
a weakness for copper-colored
tokens of superfluous luck.

Wasting her life, living away-
not even a wife-
she has nothing to say
what is writing worth-anyway?

Stark raving mad
I was with an out-of-shape-will
ill-fit to my unforgiving form,
with my soul squeezing out
the loosely knit seams-
suicidal skill without
a word threaded to-gether

And whether given a choice
when you've known
what should you do
I ask this task
of justice too...

Two.
Just know it means nothing
of value
if one values no-thing
without copper coated
currency.


Image By Daniel Schwen (Own work) [Public domain or CC BY-SA 2.5 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)], via Wikimedia Commons.

Deadheads

  

   W   D            V       T     S     T     E       N    E           B    O

      I E                  A S             A   L              S  S              O O  -who-who

       D                     D                D                  D                 D

       I                       I                  I                    I                  I

       A                     A                A                   A                 A

       S                      S                 S                    S                  S

  EMILY          Baudelaire     ELIOT      (cummings)      POE

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ 

Neruda questions

Paz professes

Rilke imagines

HD colors

Stein figured

Shelley ran

Wordsworth worked

Thoreau thought

Emerson opined

Whitman boasts

Frost argued

Longfellow leisured

Blake preached

Byron proposed

Shelley ran

______________________________________

O’Hara: Played

Cage: instrument

Ginsberg yowled ♪♪♪

______________________________________

William Williams Pictured Pictures

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

Millay maybe musing

                    Dante day dreamt

Shakespeare-Oh Deare!

Anonymous says the Truth

You & I=We Listen

Image By Julie Geiger [CC0 or CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Fifty-five shades of cadet gray

It was the thick piled blanket of gray
that made the metaphor more simile today.

Cumulative as a collector of dew
indulges in a spendthrift rain of blue.

Cowering behind high pressure,
it may have been up in the air,

but it lay down on all in between,
nestled in nature.

Birds under-cover, the grass
fast asleep,

And audibly thick sound
envelopes
from gravity's position
I fathom
to scream
inside-it does not carry
you out

I doubt it was definitely only one
up there-
clapping-
cutting, stomping, sucking, sputtering,
interrupting frontal intersections

Slicing with a mallet, tendering with blades
heart beating to ear drums

a-long the gray highway
in-complete-dis-guys

two-way mirrors like
our eyes,
the other side of sound
surround

don't bother to look-
it was only one-
a passing Chinook
in the stealth of May.




Image of painting by James Ward, Sky Study [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Missed the train

Pistons pop up and pump
left-right-left-in-even-time
while in passing
they debate the state of
why and wheretofore-
Two for-what?
to four? two ate? a double-date?
Wait-it went-two-four-eight
Not too for, but eight
is enough
Past two, past four, not from
Four to eight
four
two
8
or not
via
loco-
motive
One walks
once in a while
by two, by two.



Image by unknown author, c. 1879, [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Art of Being Neighbors

My neighbor from upstairs
stepped out onto his balcony
at six-fifteen on Wednesday
evening
looking
like he never got up
for Wednesday-he was
up-stairs, as I said
while I, in the garden
down bellow dirt level
watering and weeding
while he, squints
in critique at his canvas
tilting it and his head-
waved with two fingers
disheveled hair
and a puffy face
at me squatting
I may (as well) be making
mud-pies-
I told him
Happy (late) Birthday!
he shrugged it off and
stammered about-
surprises, bottles and friends,
his cheeks match my
roses.
May I see-asked I,
knowing he needed an eye.
He obliged-
and it was
*magnificent*
and so-the guilty party
was forgiven.




Image of painting By Carl Geist, 1906 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

When you said When

I thought when you said tomorrow
                          you meant today
when today you said yesterday and
                          yesterday it was tomorrow-
tomorrow will it be today
                          or yesterday-
Either way-
Yesterday's tomorrow
of course meant Today-
So, tomorrow then.
I will plan yesterday
as though it led to-
to-day-too-
late,
there's always
more tomorrow(s)
if we count
today
anyway.
Someday I will
have to say some-thing,
have some-thing
to say-
tomorrow, only
a today away.




Image of painting by Jan Matsys, At the Tax Collector (1539), [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

If then (Hi-Q)

If everything were
of atoms-would re-action
make art of fingers?




Photo By Mcwesty at en.wikipedia (Transferred from en.wikipedia by Ronhjones) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.