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Observations From the Groutwork
by Trisha De GraciaSupernova stanzas
startled
staggering in the mist and panting out some sullen words
through marachino paradise
and 5 o' clocktails sipped with friends from the nearby eatery.
Crank the social frying pan
and sizzle on the oil
while the poets stand and sit and spawl
scattered through the kitchen
in the pots and on the floor
between the tiles,
in the easy chairs
beneath the fixtures and the portraits of the greying men
beside the coffee mugs
and in the basement
live these poets
one by one
recording individual multi-coloured
jagged lines and verses
pieced together
-ever-
some with glue and some with ducttape
scotch tape
stickers, rice and bits of blood
to make a hist'ry
locked inside small diaries
and hidden in the floppy disks.
The voices that they'd truly sing with
rarely make more than whisper,
weakly representing our true serenade
to all that really lies inside
the matter of a human mind-
the depth and breadth of all mankind.
12/19/2003 Posted on 12/20/2003
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Leslie Ann Eisenberg on 12/22/03 at 03:01 AM ah, but that whisper is heard by those with the biggest hearts. |
| Posted by Rachelle Howe on 12/23/03 at 06:57 PM "some with glue and some with ducttape
scotch tape
stickers, rice and bits of blood
to make a hist'ry
locked inside small diaries
and hidden in the floppy disks." absolutely. |
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