. 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

Saturday, November 16, 2013

Wedding Poem

The Gardener smiles with those heaven sad eyes
as a tall skinny man swears off his ties,
Commits himself by the oath of his office
     with a firm conclusion to the single life.

No passers crying foul as these atoms collide,
The creation of a new element herein implied,
Ring-bearer bring forth the chalk
     and mark this one down on the Periodic side.

It’s in the salty air from Lake Ponchatrain,
Word of a new soul that bares the Cedars name,
Just as a bum washes up on that beach
     the New Orleans Registrar files a fresh claim.

Still a man with soul is not yet a soldier,
As a man with a pile of pebbles does not have a boulder,
We learned from the Gardener that life is a bitch
     one holds by the horns in attempt to control her.

Yet our old hero made one solitary mistake,
For love is a trap as much as an escape,
Under the burden of too much weight
     even the strongest heart can suffocate.

He held Dylan too close to his chest,
And though the old man thought this was best,
When his son’s new wings fully opened above
he broke his father’s heart…

     and left.



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