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they thought
by Charlie Morganawaiting the old me; i was Houdini,
as i escaped with the old me;
they didn't see the new me enter.
i was in my guise of forgiveness,
i sauntered and trilled; nightingale
notes sang forward and danced on clefs.
sharps and flats mixed well, synchronized.
each a culture instrumenting away;
their past played with future's hands.
blasting away at walls of otherness;
all in a vainful search of self.
a Picassoian Monet of expressionism;
hidden in cubism for definity of comfort.
the band is still playing, dancers
still dancing; each know their part.
10/29/2009 Posted on 10/29/2009
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 10/29/09 at 08:36 PM Very thought provoking. |
| Posted by Joe Cramer on 10/30/09 at 01:38 AM ... such wonderful useage.... well done, well done.... |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 10/30/09 at 04:37 PM Well, yoiu know me, Chaz. I LOVE this kind of poem and the more I read you lately the more I see that we are in a very similar place and it is good to be in familiar good company. The first four lines are extraordinary. They speak of maturity and growth and that most wonderful experience of self-realization some of us get as we age - making aging a good thing... but oh... so unAmerican. Thanks for another brilliant gem, my friend. |
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