Denny's Late

Meaningless Pictures

A morning is a massive undertaking -

A mute colossus standing in my mind.

There is stands, a boulder in a stream.

I must wait til water wears it down,

Washes it away and cleans the flow.

I can only image shallow things.

The stream and my imagination stop.

The Lines

A running commentary in my head

Of a poem while I wrote each line -

“At last you found another thing to hate” -

“Another gripe you almost overlooked” -

Kibitzed – through these briars of the truth

I continued writing. Now they're gone.

The anger resubmerged into the fen

And with it went the censor. I'm not free.

5-28-14

 

Fragment

I'm slowly falling asleep.

Is consciousness a dream?
Day to day, less sleep, more dreams.

Where is reality?

Mixed with dreams, reality

Is never quite asleep.

 

Denny's Late

I want to write a poem

But I don't know what to write.

I've written til

My guts lie on the table.

It's very late.

My car is gone.

Denny's is a bore

Except a couple people

Who're like friends.

Two of whom I've

Turned to enemies,

With a cruel joke that

Wasn't funny,

And then repeating it

To someone else.

An old man with his

Dismal sense of humor.

I can't get old.

Other people do.

The Oscar died at 50,

Keats at 26.

All my heroes dying

Or are dead.

If you like my poems, there are some collections of them on Amazon - both paperbacks and Kindles.  Most of the paperbacks are $10, and most of the Kindles $1.  To see them, go to Amazon, click on books on the drop-down and then type Joseph Hart Poetry on the address bar.