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come one, come all
by Charlie Morganthere'll be in attendance only old authors,
as they bury the memory of the last tree;
we'll meet at the loggers' mess hall and
discuss the mess from all the loggers' hauls.
yet, i'm concerned with more pertinent matters;
just how far up in my pencil is the answer
to number 50 across; so far, this part only
knows 17 across, 55 across and 62 down.
on the map, it said i was here, X.
i couldn't move nary a muscle; while
dirt of the centuries piled ever-high
around my youth's ankles. history held.
i watch a day, every day, promise everything.
for a moment. i flip my pencil over. erased!
that last line of wind whipping the downtown
halls of brick and mirrors making today's day.
daily, we face our choices: a molasses of change;
at which is always winter, sap moves so slow.
and we all agree: aisles and aisles of paper;
ordered, aligned, shipped; words awaiting humans.
DIRECTIONS: Plese respect their consumption and use.
05/19/2010 Posted on 05/19/2010
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Shonda Chrissonberry on 05/20/10 at 02:52 AM chaz...i was blown away by this. amazing my friend. amazing. *hugs* |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 05/20/10 at 02:56 PM I'm always blown away by your work, man, but this one really stops the heart for a good couple of minutes. Absolutely incredible. |
| Posted by Joan Serratelli on 05/20/10 at 04:23 PM Your poetry seems to get better and better. Outstanding write. |
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