today's poem is from 3-93. not much going on here today. what was supposed to be a rainy day, is pleasant, nearly 60 F. it's back to the salt mines in the morning, more of those ever lovely export orders. i can hear the bones creaking already ...... "where are the magic potions?" i asked the floor.
SEARCHING FOR THE POTIONS
1 searching for the potions of regeneration, i come to your door
2 tired & old, as the wind upon summer days that make not a ripple upon the lost rivers
3 that inhabit these dark mountains
4
5 wake me when there is magic in the dawn
6 & the rats are full of dante in evening skies
7 more than willing to share the secrets
8
9 seeking the potions of regeneration, i come to your door
10 sick & feeble, as the moon over the city, whispering no incantations worth remembering
11 unable to remember much of anything
12
13 wake me when you are willing to disclose your ancient magic
14 & the sound of summer is in your voice
15 falling down upon me as morning rains of these dark mountains
the poetry and rambling thoughts of a working class poet
