first of all, thanks to everyone that has visited this blog and read my poetry this year. i honestly appreciate it. Also, anyone who has left some comments ... i also appreciate that, a lot. it lets me know you're out there and i'm not just ranting before a black hole.
not much new in the world of the paper mill ... crazy as ever, though 5 more people were hired last week, in hopes they can be trained by year end and help with the many retirements planned for early next year. no overtime this week (whooopppeee!) and unless the schedule gets changed (like that could happen????? yeah right.) i'll be working with 2 of the new hires next week and not having to plug core! Maybe my shoulder will start to feel better. :-)
anyway, back to the poetry. today's poem is from 11-92 poem.
again, thanks to all who read this, and thanks to all who comment. Hello, Soulless, it's a pleasure to see someone new to the comments.
DEATH & I ARE THE SAME AGE
death & i are the same age
the poet davie wrote:
wear the same rags -
piss in the same cup.
we walk the darkness
of our dreams
turned to imperfect nightmares,
walk, swagger & fall.
it is november now
ice on the fence post
that houses no pilgrimages,
november & i weary of the rain.
death & i speak the same language,
hear the same voices
that do not inspire
& then take them to heart.
surgeons prowl my body,
daemons in disguise:
prowl, laugh at the diseases
& offer voodoo curses as consolation.
it is eternally november here,
frozen winds, as we salute gods
standing rigid as stone
in their own catastrophic dreams.
the poetry and rambling thoughts of a working class poet
