Poetry

Tuesday, 24 November 2015

Does this sound familiar

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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