Hoard neither love nor time! Stashed away, A year of love, night or day, Ain’t worth a dime!
Nor fritter either as ceremonies But as memories Lived of former moons and suns And all loved ones!
For time and love, if well-spent Are hell-bent On keeping you! They wait As one upon you!
Poet’s Note: The poem employs as its key metaphor the idea that time and love aren’t meant to be hoarded or stashed away in bank accounts the way money is, though money and bank accounts are not once mentioned! Love is time when time is love – the two are inseparable when one takes the time to love! The poem’s lesson is in the last verse.
A monster from a tree jumps and runs around the bushes to mate. A blank statement is issued. The system groans and collective pshyche fails. A stark silence for the food for thoughts. I sit down to meditate- to find
Tonight the nectar will be spread to tame a random tormentor. Black and white, I never saw my father weeping. Lonely he was. I am my own creation today weather beaten. Confession to – confession, unread. When the- storm was
(as imagined by this lumpenproletariat) When no bigger then innocuous, ho hum, happy go lucky generic black whole sonny and cher full pinhead size zit, thine pluperfect promising mysterious seat of pants whodunnit wordlessly wise wedded waywardness writ partly apportioned,
Emotional sequestration perseverates across thine time warped weft wise wold, sans interpersonal stagnation flourishes as oft twice told tale amidst derelict hollowed moldering sacrificed stranglehold did potential now bankrupt acquaintanceships/ friendships get out sold agonizingly excruciatingly jujitsu physically writhing front