Photo by Tom Butler on Unsplash


Missing the wildness of the beautiful

We degenerate into words. Waiting, between

Sentences, for the Muse to catch up with us,

We fulminate, flash like lightning, explode so

Violently that I catch myself thinking this

Is an all an act to compensate for the time

My friend climbed that tree before disappearing

To Japan for all eternity. He wished Haiku was true.

That an apple blossomed cherry blossom flash of inspiration

Could cancel out all the impure repetitiveness

Of so-much empty rhetoric — and the worst of it is

That those who claim the mantle of artist-poet

Can so easily forget that every human life is precious,

And that even those whose opinions we despise

Can open-up our eyes to our own holy imperfections,

That make us love all that is passing, frail, human.

◄ A continuing chaos: An American fugue



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keith jeffries

Sun 11th Aug 2019 19:13


Thank you for this poem especially the last four lines which for me are truly precious. When you wrote the words, "And that even those whose opinions we despise......." I rejoice to find that those opinions sometimes bring me down a peg or enlighten me into a new and different mode of thought. If only we could see ourselves as others see us.

Thank you for this

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