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Mosaic Musings...interactive poetry reviews > Archives > Archives > ARCHIVES -> Poetry for Exhibition Prior to 2006
Nicely written--the mystery of dreams, and you caught a few truths here also sun.gif  sun.gif

The Songbird

First I thought he was a painter, black
beret nonchalant worn, a black suit not
pressed and shiny with age white shirt
frayed a the collar and a dramatic yellow
cravat, but his hands too clean and he
didn’t have an air of turpentine.

No, a poet walking along as seeing and
being somewhere else a place only he
knew about. A smile, a joke yet untold
graced his face. Asked about him at
the corner shop. “ Him, the shopkeeper
laughed, is the village’s fool”            


The Hunted

Tiny rabbit blue hunted by man’s best friend
and shot at by weekend soldiers dressed in
olive green… came to an open road, alas this
Sunday heavy traffic families enjoying sunny
countryside…little rabbit blue in your entrails
I read mans future, so much blood running on
asphalted road it can’t all be yours, it’s a river
at least ten million dead a number that makes
death an abstraction, but I remember one who
fell off a tall tower holding on to his umbrella
in his face our history was ghoulishly written.
Humanity, so much hate so little love, yet all
we can do is to sit by the roadside waiting.



Recurring Dream

It was an old dream I remembered this Sunday afternoon
of fine drizzle, sleepy small town boredom and pretty
curtains. The sea between icebergs was deep green as
I swam between them towards shore a treeless island
rolling landscape and yellow grass. I was wearing a nice
suit blue suit and bought a vanilla ice cream of a man
dressed in a monk’s habit he also sold lollipops made
of chicken blood but that was for the nocturnal who
roamed this island. Statues of beautiful horses made
of onyx flanked the hills they came alive at night when
starlight released their shadows that galloped across
grassland giving grace and forgiveness to the nocturnal
who had to sink down into the silt in the lake of amnesia
before dawn. The dream tries to tell me something perhaps
I will know what it is before it is too late and I’m a dream
a sorrowful soul that flies slowly over an ocean of uncaring
I don't think I've ever seen a piece written quite like this before.  Interesting!

You've managed to create some pretty haunting scenes!

Cathy oops.gif  :wave:
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