sweetly put,

April 21, 2008 at 7:16 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 20 Comments
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though variously metaphored with latinisations
the roots of which twist and probe,
what is that dripdrop on my pinebox,
why have i been awoken from the lull
of my mothers heart sending waves
through dark eternity to this
immediate hunger,
removed again from still shadows
and mute reflection into the morbid
trundlings of the human, their petty grasping
and futile gossip,
if thou hast some mission for me, prospero,
state it obvious and without the shrill whispers
of some ariel, otherwise return me to my rest,
i have been daemon long enough and wish only
to be wrapped in the comfort of the vine,

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the vine (1)

April 20, 2008 at 12:04 pm | Posted in antihaiku, poetry, prosepoemthingy, writing | 13 Comments
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Well calm and composed is all very well
eventually will fill with water, what is that dripdrop on my pinebox?

The pursuit of stasis is pointed like a stake, it is only in death that we can escape change and if i must settle i shall do so without shame,
there is a sense of requirement, a secret duty to which i am bound but which i do not know, it chokes me in the company of others, i wish i had the power to have no effect on the world, i console myself with platitudes i have created, that i am just me and in the end can only operate within the bounds of your consent.

it is an avoidance of responsibility, holding to the hunger of the child, it is my polymorpheus perversity, the vine,

by next Sunday, this will have become a poem again, it will have dried and crystallised,
oh well,

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