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	Poetry

Poetry Vault
Today's Poem
One from the Way Back room

I attempt poetry -

but any attempt by anyone is poetry to someone, or somebody, or something ... like that, whatever.

I started way back when I was a troubled teen - I'm still doing it as a 40-year old father of two. Imagine it when I'm an old wise and gray sage-ed grandfather. I should get it right by then. Enjoy

once happy mammal
spam pork shoulder and ham can
now tin pig prison . . . haiku 11110

In the dark peripherals

I see the shadow songs

The silent whistles

The humming winds

Are a chorus thistles

The nettles the sins

In the dark peripherals

Breed the cloud dogs

Waiting for the helpless

The warming minds

Thinking as synapses

In crippled lines

In the dark peripherals

Are forgotten messes

Purgatory’s angel maids

Sweep up memory pain

Waves off phantom raids

Of acid spinal rain

In the dark peripherals

Revenge is flash frozen

Into crystal hate icy fear

Ageless slowest venom

Pathfinder of blood and tear

Soaking black and lonesome

In the dark peripherals

Enemies are fertilized

Formulated from vapor

From ignorant ovum

And the fearful leper

Breaching void and loathsome

-from November

Poetry is the art of substantiating shadows, and of lending existence to nothing. -- Edmund Burke