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Waterfalls and Rafting Wills

there are periods, which impede progress, through nature alone.

we have the commas which are but blinks to the waiting one

partakes upon, surfing along a lonely raft, amidst the howling

tailspin of a mercurial sea, fifty fathoms deep

 

Collecting one’s wits, is a method not unlike the act

of counting sheep.  In each case you make stronger your case

by barricading your surrounds by focused shells of incognito,

hoping to replace the commas with a semi-colon or a station

break, one that refuses to bog down the airwaves with inane

ads that promote items nobody cares about, yet if nothing else is playing, or your arms

are too full of laziness, you are forced to witness audibly, the pathetic

pangs of marketeers, as only the desperate of the lot can stand silent as their

voice is heard parsing out these muddled and purposefully convoluted examples of

cliche, adages and the latest trends in action verbs.

 

So, silence is a virtue as is patience but patience we have found is too

intertwined with the greater fabric of existence, where, at this point, it

is much easier to seal tight ones tongue, than it is to enjoy the obscurity

of senseless needling of words not yet wrung.

 

Calamity is too far a signalizing beacon of distress, to even contemplate

venturing down such pavements rich in its unique brand of insecurity, so

we shall let such barricades block the shelters for the poor, not the needy, no

but the impoverished sense of self that we tote about our necks like the rock

bearer at a beach-side funeral.

 

Scorched earth, apace with brandished birth, a colossus impregnated by

the nymph of dream, who at one time, not too long ago from where stand

our laces tight tonight, penetrated softly the singularity of fertile plight, billowing

up it’s cloud of brand, brainwashing the unobserved with the ever gently placed

slight of hand…magic

is but reality

with a

splice and

a twist

 

Elbow grease, I forgot the origin of such a phrase, but I assure

you, I did, at one time, fully know the etymology of the words within, as I have

been known to spew forth numerous times below…yet tonight, when called upon

the callouses harden beneath the shadow of a self-proscribed atomic clock, leaving

me alone with the dangerous temptations broadened by a littany of harsh-flavoring, lozenges for the

diffused, broken, pummeled and oft abused by the speakers busted knuckles, residing a layer deep

beneath where bruises rear their ugly seats…

 

I love poems that are interchangeable.

I adore the voice that cackles and creaks yet always

manages to, in one fashion or the next, to contort

the rambling dichotomy of a distant day, into some

token land a mere rhythm but a minuscule of proportion

away….

 

yet, no matter the marathon one can and often shall march,

there inevitably grows the foundation, the bridge from meander to

vine, the collapsable bridge-work latticework wrought with steel plated

stitching, that, of course, leads us, eventually, tunneling beneath the broadstrokes

that are the mask and key, the fortresses buried above this submerged sects of disassembled

oceanography, where, time shall splice us into a warped warbling gaze of impression, teleporting

us to that point, where one more word

will be one more

choice that pushes

the pen up and over

the jagged crags of edge

that is

the waters of our stead,

forcing the gasping breath

to free-fall, antiicpating the

wet beneath, shockingly prepared for

that final sight,

before your shell is

carried off like leaves

lost at sea, that once

carried the potentiality of

a mighty wise expanse of tree….ENDINGS

are but BEGINNINGS in disguise, or, at least

that is what this writer revels in, else-wise, lest

all these many tricks of turn, be lost, as is

the ashes contained within our yet to be placed

unable to be cauterized space to burn….END>

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About hobgoblin2011

I'm a poet and aspiring screenwriter/songwriter with a passion for film, art, photography, philosophy and heavy metal. I love reading, mainly non-fiction, comic books, graphic novels, myth and reference. Family always comes first for me. I'm a proud father to two wonderful pups and two curious cats. I'm also a glutton for punishment aka the life of being a diehard Buffalo Bills and Sabres fan.

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