. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Friday, February 17, 2012

What Will

This is an older poem from a series I did way back in 2003-04 called the "Smith Poems", about events surrounding the life of one of my very good friends. I've come a long way as a poet, and rarely rhyme anymore, but it's always great to see the origins of artistry that eventually made me into the writer I am today...

Michael Smith,
A long night’s restless day,
Intertwining morning sun and moon,
And ready to make his way.

Sometimes refusal

   To the awakening night,
In order for slumber to show its might,
No sullen days will be his plight.

Sometimes acceptance,

And the night begins,
A lack of sane thoughts,
Muddles in friends.

But had he refused

   Her call (In the midst of a sunning land),
Her body with his should be lost,
No dancing hand in hand.

His eyes too must surely cringe

   At the thought that chance could have taken sight,
A moustache’d avenger,
Seen that night.

Sleep still begs this boy to come

   And find his place to things well missed,
Such things in rooms
   As a misplaced kiss.

Michael Smith,

A question lingers still,
This next night’s chance or peril,
I beg you, Sir, what will?


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