Poet’s
Corner
We
wait we wonder
We
wonder and we wait
He
is sat in the corner
Staring
up at Heaven’s Gate
Saint
Peter was a Poet
The
Poet’s shuffle, reassemble
Like
Penguins until a new one of their number
Is
in the corner
The
warmest part for to create
We
shall speak in tongues
With
the Ouija-board the muse we shall summon
Come
speak to us from the other side
Oh
Muse of the other world
Spirit
from the dark side of the moon
Is
it Monday? A bold but confused Poet name Henry Hymn
Prophesized
The
day of the mons, the Monads
The
Moaners and the Mona Lisas
Who
leased her? Who Owns her?
This
spirit of the wind of breath?
Her
Mongrel Gods barked the Major Dog
The
King of Canis over the Caspian Sea
Who
hung his jowls on the table top
His
Moustache bristling with the Confidence
Of
the Landed and free
What
phantoms have called you here?
Do
these walls have ears?
Only
in the corners spoke the old guy from behind his beer
Only
in the corners do the Poets hear
The
muse
She
whispers through mouse holes
As
soft as mice squeak
As
clean as a ski slope under drifted snow
As
dry as a desert island
Said
Saint Thomas the retired Priest
Haling back his Hale to heaven
Each
present gift of manna
A
hail stone in the eye of the muse
Like
David and Goliath
He
draws his sling while enemies
Surround
him
The
promised land is within him
And
She walks in his pastures green
Where
he lays down with her
And
Jesus looks on saying this
Is
not what He had in mind
Beyond
this at the end of the evening Adam turns up with
His
Apple half chewed
And
Eve is already there
Saying
I’ve been waiting for you with my muse
Is
Poetry what you intended by your fall
Temptation
was just over the garden Wall
No
said Adam I admit I walked out
Of
Eden’s gates
Poetry
is not the lost key, its just another way back
But
it for now will have to do
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