(and again) poetry from voices

April 4, 2009 at 2:49 am Leave a comment

tone poem:  shaded light

lakemirrored sky
fisherman set dreaming
midst wisped fog
and wind-shaped trees
the waters
scarcely stirring…

having pointed at flowers, attempted
unwordy knowledge…

i remember the fisherman,
bright in the misty
flawed refractions
of pure light.



Bear in mind this poetry at latest dates from the early 1980s.  I still write poetry; it’s merely that I’m a tad more circumspect about “publishing” it online because of potential stickiness with publishers.  So to speak.  We’ve yet to come up with some terminology here, and some of it is because it’s just now become obvious that there’s a store of knowledge that we don’t know how to classify.  Before, it was the guy with the biggest fists and/or the loudest mouth.  Now?  Power rests on illusion, and illusion is the product of manipulation.  A part of the control exerted by the laws of the common’s place (so to speak)–is simply to show that the iron fist indeed yet rests beneath that velvet glove.  So to speak.  Though some may find the velvet a bit bare.

Entry filed under: chronic pain, poetry.

poetry from voices On Intelligence

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