Uncle Tom's Cabin A Blessing Catharsis (most are not notable)

Keep your Frenemis close, Dear Benita,
Remember Ramona by Hunt Jackson 
was related to a Frenemy Hers, 
Dickinson,  Wharton, and Bertha Comstock
,a great Auntie of mine, we all Descend
for what would a Muse want of tenure?
Decidousity like ours: Hey GIrl,
A Frenemy Defeat is a Coup de Grace 
Suicide is so Yesterday, Je Vou Vaccordez
I walk to the Bookcase over my Pupil
Where has all Honesty? Gone look right here:
IT is lettered my colleague with a Plume 
Take it, my Feather, Art, and Loom
If one of them touches you, just send a Tune

Love of Enemy

Love is what it does not say by word or sword
  would remain silent a millenium more
to contrive what it could to avoid the harm
 of doctrines of authority or war
and choose for the greater of worth its honor
 to contrive to contrive love with love of war
is to trample the silence of the unknown
which not only for its favors but  omens
if one thing becomes impossible to love
  it has become as such by its lack of truth
then love lost to truth is love’s imitation
yet love never gained is a love forever
for love is what love is and what it may be
remains to be discovered by enemies.

ODE TO NBA

Harder a heart that never knew courage

through the passageways in search of a source

now though the half courts have became an ocean

sound steps over into infinite age

Where have all my people gone? I'm alone

a new line of a sonnet no matter

journeying and vanishing horizons

changes dimension with every turn

passed every obstacle ever heard

thundering soundlessly certain wisdom

as the stillness is faster than motion

what it contains for power over force

peace brings into fruition to conquer

the sport of solitude is mastery.

Ode to NBA

Harder a heart that never knew courage

through the passageways in search of a source

now though the half courts have became an ocean

sound steps over into infinite age

Where have all my people gone? I'm alone

a new line of a sonnet no matter

journeying and vanishing horizons

changes dimension with every turn

passed every obstacle ever heard

thundering soundlessly certain wisdom

as the stillness is faster than motion

what it contains for power over force

peace brings into fruition to conquer

the sport of solitude is mastery.

Sadder than Shakespeare's Death, the Wanderer

On a spring day at the death of Shakespeare
Stormed through the quiet tundra Doc Williams.

Against his advice I strike my sonnets
Don't can't take me away from my illness.

I write my own medicine into it.
a yellow flower blooming in letters

They are a part of a song left unsaid
If love was within it went unnoticed

Though pleasant enough an afternoon was
Everything sort of seemed a disaster.

Nothing seemed serener in centuries
What I remember of you, Wanderer

Is how you come into the poem Moaning:
"Where have all of my people gone Away?"

Good Friday

In the depth of deep and broken sorrows
as things go unsaid and others lunge on
or from the phylus a flower blooms
through the tough in the thickness of moments

as though a whole world sped upon wings
to announce of a forest in each thing
a portion of a new and old song, spring,
its talons rise the wind you can see in

beyond the point of distinguishing now
is the tune of melodious honor
extinquishing the winter of horror
and alights on Persephone's bower

as a sparkle a meteor showers
crossing the platinum evening hour.

blind love: Ariel

blind love

April 10, 2014 at 2:55pm

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I'm neither here nor there alive nor dead
i occupy two different dimensions
red skin and bone pink and spotted
my name causes loss of breath Edith

The gift of war ever peaceful at peace
there are no terrors don't visit on me
i bring the key to the door of truths
i believe would never need evidence

if some such as the meek ringing with verse
even metaphor rushes eaglelly,
a lights to a high point alerted beak
Wings drawn to the trunk and talons secure

first I would listen to the wind what says
why does it would it could it should try
I'm nothing to go magic on geez.
leave me with my self admiration

poor piteous me Shakespeare, nunnery
inhabited by martyrs of errors
I'm too dumb to be credible and so
Look at what passes for a language,.

You get me but pretend not to care
between two points a line to draw