three kicks the mule
inside to out
to the gold of geese
the tin that drives the ear.
came her and he
she of aniseed on dancing glass.
he of wise; the cutting man;
off both heads to the Heron's thigh
fly castle straight on flesh-wind to the chimes of log and cinder,
that burns the fleas
the flowers of the brain.
runs backwards; folded arms on swaying bridge of twig,
one soul to solder sky and beak to locking jaw,
one soul to live as armpit to the tongue;
three strands of grease
to man-machine the engines of our hair,
more darker than the black-hole to the shaft;
the craft of fayre that flavours thorn
rides gun-shot through the hot-house
to the ice of stone no man will kiss, nor ever tell,
tall tales of beards on rat's tail,
ghouls on stilts with hemoglobin books
to spread as seed on mermaid hooks
hanging blind as heaven hangs a lie;
three kicks the mule;
the space beyond the years;
Orion has her belt,
manicured and buckled;
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 24th, 2021 06:45
- Comment from author about the poem: life beyond the stars?
- Category: Nature
- Views: 35
Offline)
Comments3
a more than generous comment Teddy;
and as kind and supportive as always.
to poetess and a dear friend,
Thank You x
Orion sure is the resting place for the greats, but before that greatness is bestowed upon you, nature must grant you permission and time to succeed.
wonderfully fun!
reminding us, that before we thought-up
Sci-Fi's escapism, space ships
it was within poetry, itself
where a few chose
'to go where no Person
has dared - to, Before'...
who says poetry, isn't futuristic?
Instead, I propose
Poetry's, deemed Archaic
is the wisdom
we've yet, to catch-up to
'in my humble opinion'... lol
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