SPIRIT OF A POET

with the rising sun
in the dawning of a new day
a poet's work starts

I sit in a dark attic
awaiting the developing light of day
into the late hours of the night
when tears fall from my eyes

this vigil I must hold
and repel wrongdoings
to nod off and sleep

I know the voice will be heard
before the silence of darkness
receive the sounds with grace

whatever words comes to me
I accept with gratitude
a poem's heart in love

EASTER FEAST

when they sat at the bare table
the tyrants stood watching
knowing it was OK to see the hungry sit
with their empty plates
like beggars with open mouths
abused hungry hookers
and tired thieves

the poor at the table stared
at the quota of cracked shells
they were hungry for dinner
they were surrounded by birds
but had no turkey only water
they drank through rotten teeth
before it lost its taste

after the darkness of hunger
the endless hours of no turkey
the old poet gives up his words
picks up his spoon and knife
puts his plate of poems on the table
carving them up in protest
as the tyrants crack eggs eating turkey

April 5 poem

huge spring snowfall
cloud gods crying
searching for crocus

POETRY MONTH...

April 1

a harsh spring morning
and drunk poets drink
before they write

April 2

thunder in the clouds
cold steel
of her mothers fist

April 3

April how cool
the drunken words
poet's can't find

April 4

as hot water in hell
on a cold dirty road
whores' footprints

STANDING

I was standing inside her nest
in the hole where poets rest
without shoes where birds can't soar
listening to Ginsberg howl and roar

with no courage I watched in awe
an old poet perform without flaw
having words he wouldn't share
his beat poems beyond compare

teaching birds the spoken word
without lessons not to be heard
he would emanate if he chose
or disappear if your mouth would close

a tired poet with wizard's powers
knowing I was watching he gave flowers
my soul embraced such a word guru
who freely gave his poems too