I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
What if you log off Go out, touch the grass, and find It's artificial?
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Competition seems like a fine idea Healthy, and conducive to real progress Ah, but there’s a test for gonorrhea Let not the test, per se, the mind obsess;
The creator’s challenge is enormous: Conjure up a world using strange symbols That seizes our attention; you know us! We measure our attention with thimbles
It is difficult When gossip's the most potent Communication
Consider the power of a gesture: Two fingers raised as a plea for mercy Thumbs descending to slay a prone creature How casually cruel can digits be?
Illness changes things The way the well treat the ill In the worst of ways
A lie remains false Even if many proclaim That it is the truth
If from machines we learn to write We will cease to create at all In repetition we will stall And generate cliches most trite
Consider just this image, frank and bold It represents a duel’s morbid, white end The slain clown his shocked retainers enfold
All hope resides here In you, reading a poem And feeling some joy
Each of our fears is but a slow shadow Child of inscrutably reeling old spheres Laugh as its cool ink washes over you Impervious to its ominous kiss
You must smile somewhere Once I desert this nowhere The sea will see us
