This should raise some discussion.
∞
Who put a magnet in the loin
to watch it pulled clean through a mortared wall?
The a cappella traffic gives mice
& birds migraines— make(s) food a weapon!
Younger poets are charmed by polysyllables
: they’ve ample time to waste
—am i still young or have i always been
this old? My allotted time
has never felt that short | so much spare
then what to do with it all?
As poets grow grey & dewlaps skip
the floor they switch from scudding words
to steady | stomping monosyllables |
to keep the time they have from pecking bone.
The sun has left off land | 2 cats melt
into rock & shadow | stalking ducks
with water at their back | the cats
know better than to lunge the arc of dusk.
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Daniel, sorry if this is a repeat comment, either I goofed or it went into spam. I love the clear images au naturel, and although I admit I don’t like actual thinking, it’s a glorious poem. The last few pairs are stand-outs for me and I think time always pecks the bone, you’ve reached the bone with this piece. 😃
Yer a gent Steve. But i think think you think just fine, it may be humour think bit it’s still think.
I think therefore I am. After that it gets confusing.😜
Can’t be a poet without sniffing at snafu.