MY OWN PARADE

April 18, 2017

 

Walking, mostly neat in clockwork close meter,

Warmer ghosts  from my former  features;

All the roles, All the resume’,

Falling in line,  Just the crew to rescue me.

Faded as sad old soldiers, parted.

(Vain fantasies say  old glories stay guarded)

Again, always, They had  heaved it all in a heavy chest.

Again, always, they had heaved in their chest

Taking it to heart & head.

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I’ll call it for you  my own VFW

hall. I have my own tall tales to tell,

We’ll share lies, & libations.

I’ll wear my  mightier  pen.

I’ll share  sham wisdom  wide open.

But first, false memories in verse.

& what’s worst,  I’ll con, & confide  open.

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“I’m ready to go anywhere/ I’m ready for to fade/ Into my own parade”

—————-Dylan (the troubadour one), from “Mr. Tambourine Man”

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“Every hero  becomes a bore,  at last.”  -Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

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.                                                                                                                       (5 yrs back)

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N O I S E

February 4, 2017

 

 

 

“May  our  miracles

…Not  be  cruel.”

I tipped my head up,

Away from my novel.

So uncharacteristic

From some televangelistic

Noise at the end of Pop’s assisted-living room.

The old & Southern bible guy

Was odd  about numbers, too.

Not magic mathematics about chapters & verse,

But worse,  what words add up to,

& seven is this

& five is that.

His numbers were different from mine.

Maybe,  I was getting it wrong.

The old & Southern crowd was all nodding.

It takes a stadium.

Maybe  I’m

Imaginin’,

Tho’ mostly sure   that’s it.

 

 

 

 

(7 yrs back)