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MoJo
by Charlie Morganhe gives me my MoJo, 'here PaaPaw tate yur jojo'.
that moment is mine and i feel like Daddy did.
worthless, my daddy'd say. meaning he is pampered,
therefore he's become worthless, i laugh still.
a confluence of influence meets at both MoJo's:
his and mine[a larger one], he accepts me as his.
i live now for every day that becomes then, a corner
of my world; protected by my thoughts, memories, futures.
my hood-ornament to life, my main-sail and rudder:
a rope-walker towhead, two and half feet at my thigh.
bending ancient knees he has me in tow, following
his spritely, gangly legs outrunning his firetruck.
01/21/2009 Author's Note: rope-walker, def. is one who does something of great merit, albeit not worldly in notice. and so, few know of such rope-walkers other than in their indiginous area. but as mythologies go, trueisms to some degree, so goes rope-walkers.
Posted on 01/21/2009
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 01/21/09 at 10:26 PM Strange, but as always, you make it fascinating as hell. Nice. |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 01/22/09 at 09:40 AM They do touch us in ways that defy the logic of the best voyeur, and even, sometimes, the written word. I'm so glad you have your little champion. |
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