image borrowed from bing
Verse Has a Voice
“Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning
well, poetry is just the ash.”--Leonard Cohen
Poetry burrows its way into everything,
into song lyrics,
garish graffiti on bare brick,
the guts of good prose,
the fabric of politics,
the swoon of sermons,
digital recordings sent by NASA,
thrust into the evermore, endeavoring
to communicate with what’s out there,
into the overlapping dimensional shifts
of my dreams and my several lives.
It definitely is
liberty, freedom, heroic, macabre, absurd,
humorous, heartbreaking, bolstering, reconstruction
flies, crawls, stumbles, struts, leaps, somersaults,
races, stalls, skips, taps,
and gyrates its hips.
Often it can
exhilarate, depress, uplift, confuse, illuminate,
stimulate, explicate, dampen, perplex
It is capable of screaming, whispering, lecturing,
cajoling, alienating, hugging, bitch-slapping, raping,
making love, assaulting, cuddling, defining, strangling
or holding at arm’s length,
but thank the gods it also
french kisses, shrimps, gets on top, crosses its arms,
unsnaps its bra and shows its breasts, flashes
its butt, performs in every imaginable position,
and wraps its long legs passionately
around our muscular backs.
I find it to be
my constant companion,
and sometimes I fear
it is hermaphroditic,
and my mistress.
Posted over at dVerse Poets
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