danger!
blank paper ahead.
proceed with caution.
people have been known to starve
trying to make marks on blank pages.

a nation is born; one vanishes, ta da!
lost is the sequence of daily breaths.
gone is the will to draw hopeful ideas
into the blue lungs of free expression.

stop a poet; stop a bullet. both are death.
and the last line will be a Nerudian cantata
quietly hollering, and whiskers spewing Cuervo,
as he writes 'oro' on the thirsty sand's back.

maybe is a much longer road than certainity,
and you can get a grin, giggle for a limerick.
spending grins, tears, wails, woes and bad luck
are the very marks that conspire on blank paper.

soldiers beget farmers; farmers beget poets.

09/09/2008

Posted on 09/09/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan