We are empty
We are full
Travel a dark road of light
In a rush-push
Pull with all our might
In a hurry to wait
We are empty
Full
Thirsty, quenched
Lean, bursting
Scurry down a bright road
Of darkness
Blind, leaning together
As a chain gang of eyes—
We find we are lost
Knee-deep in lies
Neck deep in destiny
Behind enemy lines
America.
© 07/12/2011 by UT2
Acrylic on panel by UT1
Don’t let yourself be
too hung up on a pen.
Don’t let fingers, hands, arms,
become an extension of a keyboard.
An automaton: how can he write poetry?
Do not be too solid,
firm and unyielding in your existence.
When you walk a path,
you must be inadequate
to find your feet.
You will strain to hear
through a corn ear,
grope to see through a potato eye;
as your heart grows eyes,
your muse will become music
to your ears.
When you speak of a rose,
it will be more than just red
or yellow or pink.
We will share not only the texture
of the petals in your fingers
but also the thorns
and we will taste the blood.
© 08/11/2011 by UT2
Soft pastel on paper by UT1
Sometimes
silent music is the best music of all.
It falls like night.
It falls like a snowflake.
It is a smile as opposed to a laugh.
It is a poem as opposed to a song.
It comes to you as on a noiseless wing
of no required footstep.
You need not walk out to meet it.
In winter’s hour it comes like a snowflake,
yet, as welcoming angel, its embrace is warm.
©June 11, 2013 by Ut2
Acrylic on canvas by UT1