I said it all long ago
once in a poem
Nothing to restate,
no words to explain
The waters have traveled,
my ship has long sailed
Your curious intention
brings only refrain
All thoughts into memory
whose feelings have gone
The property of others
my words now belong
Wishing and hoping
the spirit disowns
All wisdom diverted
—to skip that last stone
(Dreamsleep: October, 2021)
Storming The Walls
Within this structure,
my words remain
Each line a fortress,
as thoughts refrain
The ramparts solid,
its moat retracts
All quivers loaded,
as doubt attacks
The enemy constant,
assault on fire
What darkness births,
one phrase retires
The battle spoken
upon the wind
My legend written
—still safe within
(Dreamsleep: October, 2021)
Bad Pennies...
Writing is a messy feast
where crumbs fall to the floor
to congregate and aggregate
to hide and form and spore
Left alone and thrown away
these remnants take new life
invading what you fear the most
on dark and stormy nights
They creep inside your cleanest lines
to weaken and distract
what memory long has cast aside
now rising from the cracks
And latching on while holding tight
they make you speak their name
those orphaned crumbs your table cleared
—in sweeping lost disdain
(Dreamsleep: October, 2021)
-
Author:
Kurt Philip Behm (
Offline) - Published: October 26th, 2021 12:15
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
- Users favorite of this poem: Lauraš»
Offline)
Comments5
Kurt,
WOW!!
These āDreamsleepā are extraordinary. Thereās so much I want to say about themā¦but I shall refrain. I do not want to take away or diminish in any away what they mean to me; however,
I DO want to say with all my heartā¦
Thank You For Sharing.
Lauraš»
Thanks Laura, I'm so glad they resonated with you.
Kurt
I see you added another gem. Your āDreamsleepsā are the gifts that keep on giving.
Ah those āBad Penniesā¦ā
Heads or tails?
This last stanza is my favorite.
Determination and perseverance at its best.
āAnd latching on while holding tight
they make you speak their name
those orphaned crumbs your table cleared
āin sweeping lost disdainā
A super write!
ā¤
Thanks for reading.
I imagine if Walt Whitman
was to rewrite
his ode to his beloved America - once
'of the Brave',
reflecting
on the embattled Nation's, current state
he would write words similar to your poem, Kurt
and maybe title his lifetime's book
'tears of concrete'...
(oh, but how Grotesque
we've warped, that Nature
he so humbly, adored!)
A compelling thought...
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