Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Curse of the Common's (A Poem)

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 CURSE


It’s funny how time
erodes things,
Steals your prime away
In the inky blot of everyday.
We plant the seeds of ourselves
Beneath an anchored TV station,
Small-town radio talkshow,
Left eye of our minds
falling into a blank space,
empty plate of the pie,
closed in leaf of the pea.
We yearn
Against the dim rings
Of saturn’s blind moon,
for a bend in the road,
A life lived nonlinear;
Hope against black coffee
And the luke warm water
Of every morning
For an immeasurable
Branching out,
Two hundred sheets into
The novelty of another life.
Yet the days only unwind,
Liquid vessels that sink
Into the running
Green legs of the sea.
We walk cavernous circles
Across the same old spaces,
Feet burning blisters,
Only a pebbles’ skip away
From the flames,
Pandemonium
Of the king’s chair.
None of us are safe
Even in our stilled hearts
And rusted joint-wheels.


Written From prompts provided by:

5 comments:

  1. "We plant the seeds of ourselves
    Beneath an anchored TV station,"
    Wow! I can't list them all but what a great commentary on a writers life in 2013 and our normal everyday trials and tribulations. Bravo!

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  2. Quite extraordinary, actually...

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  3. Always a special treat...thank you...

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  4. This is absolutely brilliant, stunning as always. I agree we do get preoccupied in the mundane, consumed with our security, never taking risks, drawing our world in tighter and tighter until like a corset there is not room to breath just the ache of compression

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Thank you for taking the time to comment, it is so appreciated. Your thoughts and critiques are always welcome! I will be by to visit your blog soon!