deepundergroundpoetry.com
.:Page[r] Turned On:.
all but vacated
like whispered winds
a deliberate hibernation
who really knows?
words showing their worth
once in awhile judiciously read
the who, the what of what’s been said
left behind reminding those curious about our thing
now & again, the occasional exclamation of
::man, that was really something::
senses grabbing hold, re-discovering
willing to wink, to blink
just think..
this is what a taste is
the combing, that climbing
folk journeying through old vestiges
gone-bye messages; remnants making an appeal
searching for hearts, our
smarts to reveal; seeing things vividly
the whole world hunkered down
that freebasing of hacked media
to date, us eating from the seeker’s plate
sugary home fries as we realize
they just don’t taste the same
maybe it’s the frame, but
picture this..
we used to squat
right there on the curb
at a table, some of us on the floor
we’d watch while waiting
resting up for the latest
those soliloquies were the greatest
defining our tears, our smiles as reward
each subsequent visit another free verse
another torrentially tossed-up rhyme
was it a sign?
each emotional spark
making a mark; another
just cause for our re-awakening
the need for discipline not placating
mad doses of that critical coolness
such is the assertive astuteness
a touch missed so much
how it would place us right there
the word heard, the way it got served
everyone could tell
this had always been the mission; art as craft
validated by each submission; each
an attempt to alleviate the peril
our world, the passion; the way unfurled
::man, really, this could really be something::
all over again...all of us
again spilling our spirit, all over,
humans being human
the bravery of whole beings into something
fingers wondering ::can you feel it?
Published 16th Sep 2014
| Edited 22nd Dec 2014
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