Standing Behind People

short poetry words move god philosophy ancestor

 

 

You are the,
Reduction,

Sweet wine, the
Product of every,

Human Being,
Behind you, and

That is all;

Behind every,
Great human, is

God,

Behind every great,
Man, a woman

A woman, a man
A man, a man and,

A woman, a woman, you
Are the original ancestor,

You.

♦Picture – 500Px

-short evocative poetry-

 

 

Pray on, everyone.

Pray on, everyone.
As they prey on everyone.
Ask God to make it all okay,
While they’re ripping their own flesh away.
Because God had told them what to do.
The very same God you’re praying to,
To ask for comfort and help from Him.
Should He listen to you or to them?

Stagnant

Dust it off,
That brain of yours.
Open up your mouth.
Clear away the junk.
Come out of the fog
Say what you really want to say.

But everyone keeps asking how you feel,
Expecting you to say, I’m fine.
And everyone keeps asking,
What you’re going to do,
Expecting you to say,
Well, I have one or two ideas.

But you have none.
You feel numb.
Apathetic.
But that’s not important.

A little gentle deception won’t hurt.
I feel just fine.
Life is good.
I have everything figured out.

I just need you to think that I’m okay,
In order for me to be okay.

Crystal Midden

I dug a piece of ruby red glass out of the ground,
Pulled it up with the dead twigs of last year’s peony flowers.
It was intertwined with them, as if they were holding on to it.
Keeping a little treasure for their very own.

Like arrowheads in the Southwestern United States,
Such finds are fairly common around here.
Not too far from Nybro, home of Kosta Boda.
Here in the Kingdom of Crystal.

Yes, it’s really called that.

It’s hard to tell what this piece was meant to be.
Maybe a handle of some kind.
It’s curved and perfectly smooth on one side,
Sharp and jagged on the other.

This little town used to have its own glass workshop,
But it shut down many years ago.
No trace of it left now.
Apart from little artifacts like these.
It was probably part of a failed piece,
Cast into a waste pile.

A crystal midden, redistributed by bulldozers.
The little broken treasures lost,
Until dug out of backyard flowerbeds.

Dicks in Space Suits

UNEP, environment

Dead beetles die in their skins, and

Seychellois, Mauritanians, Maurtians, Martians,
Fighting with sun-tans all, and

Bad lip jobs,

In Nairobi,
Silent giraffes groping for love,

God,
Tending to antelopes,

And the world ending
In a traffic jams or,

Dicks in space-suits building railways​ through the heart of a city.

♦Photo♦ Friends of Nairobi National Park

-short evocative poetry-


I lost my shoes in India

Religion, reincarnation, representation

 

sweets on a plate
empty tuperware

lens cleaner is,

What we took to bed.

Red he says, but he’s deaf,
With earphones on,

Police frames and Louis Vuittion,
Cardboard handbags,
And perfect lips,

Peach by the way, like
I said, I

Lost my shoes in India and the Geisha wasn’t real.

 

♦photo♦ – Hyunception: Movie Reviews & Analysis

-short evocative poetry-

 

 

Receiver: A City To Love


Pick it up; handle it.
Hands have driven us,
finger manipulation of
matters ongoing.
My fingers ache tremendously
when you’re around.
Fingers help spread the news.
Lost; growing black inside,
all twelve have padded tips.