Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

am I talking to myself
or
is someone overhearing
the footsteps of my words

I listen
clock
rush of heat
briefly

eyes too self-conscious
too much inside outside

a few withered leaves
on the sticks this season
we call trees

I'm getting away from myself
good usually
but
I want to feel for this world

hard to imagine the wars, the killing
when in a quiet room
comforter draped over a chair
sunlight indifferently beautiful
self not slapped in the face
ears not withstanding religious harangue
or social chanting
thoughts bare accompaniments
to a quiet and old
heartbeat

Even the warriors look back and wonder,
why . . . it's all a young sport, I imagine.
Listen to the spaces between, I guess.

in the room, clock ticking, quiet whoosh of the heat coming on - loved the line "sunlight indifferently beautiful."

you obviously do feel for the world, i don't think i've ever read you more angry than in your poem re charlie hebdo.

be angry
be happy
be disgruntled
crawl into a cloister
and just Howl @ the moon!:)