I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
It's temporary Just like everything else Not excluding time
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
One must respect the narrative technique When an obstinate skeptic is woven Into a tale audacious, nigh unique Who doubts that bread emerged from yonder oven
Our enigmatic origins have been The subject of many peculiar tales; Sacred, secular, lofty and obscene Many involve a villain with bright scales
Be a villain, then But with some grace, some real style Who loves sloppy fiends?
Do it as if this Is your last chance to do this Well, for it may be
Most carnal pleasures are forbidden me My bed is cold and lonely as a tomb Never will I a naked maiden see Nor see my son spring from her fertile womb
You can and do read That is beautiful, for you Give worlds of words life
I am a dusty fossil, dry and old My lectures include no bright, flashing slides When the words of the text are ductile gold
I was invisible and she was seen Snow sweetly sauntering through autumn leaves Playing the voyeur seems somewhat obscene
Technical trouble Can generate frustration But it prolongs thought
Your poverty is not exactly mine Long journeys do not always yield progress Your world looks warm and your smiles define
How frequently do we use metaphor Gustatory, culinary, of taste To describe how that novel in a drawer Made the hours given to it no waste?
