Keen the sharp edge,
even redundancy,
life, as with poetry,
is best facilitated by brevity,
point a – point b.
But there are the exceptions
leading me to the question,
that detour, that out of way venture,
that rendezvous long way home.
And then when you ask the question
it’s already been answered–
to the bone.
© May 14, 2014 by UT2
Soft Pastel On Paper by UT1
Is for better or for worse.
The train has arrived,
You have left the station.
Occupation-wise
There is monetary gain,
Momentary fame—
If you’re lucky—posthumously.
It keeps you awake at night.
You clamber for
And hoard
Scraps of paper. At night you rise
Among melting dreams.
There is a railroad track, a chicken coup.
An evening sunset, a morning monsoon.
A water buffalo is cleaved in half.
Rat-a-tat-tat.
A former stick, a yellow-lipped Krait,
Glides through manioc.
You ask yourself: is this real?
Thunder answers,
A bell answers,
Poetry answers—all one long peal
like a train whistle through a long tunnel
And there is no appeal and no recourse
But to press on in the dark,
Press on or forever hold your peace.
© Oct 21, 2013 by UT2
Acrylic On Watercolor 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 ©2012
Pencil On Sketch Pad by UT1