I stand alone on a hillside supermarket parking lot, a half moon above me, its dark side toward Venus. They seem locked together, like our nation is locked,
linked with another a half-world away: fortunes bonded, through fate and manipulation, where we invaded as liberators and are viewed by some as
occupiers of that fated ancient land of Assyrians and cuneiform, fertile crescent shading to triangle of death. We claim to extend a hand of friendship.
Who's noticing? The dollar store's sign blinks red, the gas prices at Sunoco register higher. In a blue firmament, Venus and the half-dark moon shine cold.
Christopher T. George
Hi Didi
This is my poem that you said you needed posted here for May IBPC. Or have I missed the boat? If I have it is because this Blog business and changes, EZ data loss etc are all too confusing, so sorry if we are up a tree...
4 comments:
Ok
I'm in
Yes, I want to be in too! But I can't figure out to post! (I know, I feel like an idiot, but oh please oh please, help!)
Chuck
In Tandem
I stand alone on a hillside supermarket parking lot,
a half moon above me, its dark side toward Venus.
They seem locked together, like our nation is locked,
linked with another a half-world away: fortunes
bonded, through fate and manipulation, where we
invaded as liberators and are viewed by some as
occupiers of that fated ancient land of Assyrians
and cuneiform, fertile crescent shading to triangle
of death. We claim to extend a hand of friendship.
Who's noticing? The dollar store's sign blinks red,
the gas prices at Sunoco register higher. In a blue
firmament, Venus and the half-dark moon shine cold.
Christopher T. George
Hi Didi
This is my poem that you said you needed posted here for May IBPC. Or have I missed the boat? If I have it is because this Blog business and changes, EZ data loss etc are all too confusing, so sorry if we are up a tree...
Chris
Also re the poem losses on EZ--
Speaking for the Poems
We all agree. We
never wanted to escape!
Suddenly free
against our will,
we're stuck some-
where in cyber hell!
We don't like it here,
it's cold not hot,
as the old tales told,
the devil has his pitchfork,
he's turning us into poemsicles
as we speak; I don't want
to be the next to freeze!
Won't you help us, please!
Christopher T. George
Post a Comment