Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Four Untitled* Poems

One
He had poetry planned,
His pen yet to write.
But alas,
Lightning struck,
And poetry had the last word.

Two
So poor,
His soul paid
The toll.
Eating his meals,
With his hands,
From a dust bowl.

Three
Anywhere but here
We would call you
"Pedophile!"
"Stalker!"
"Sadistic!"
"Sick!"
But welcome to entertainment.
Here we call you Paparazzi.
Only in this location,
Can others misery
Be your vocation.

Four
Turn up the volume,
Tune out the poverty.
Turn up the volume,
Tune out the misery.
Turn up the volume,
Tune out the hatred.
Turn up the volume,
Turn up the volume,
Turn up the volume.

2 comments:

  1. Wow! Great poems, Will!

    Your strong sense of imagery and ability to set a hook truly pulls the reader into the "mind" of your poems.

    Thanks for letting the muse speak through you.

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