The Lost poets series:  James Emanuel

 
 
The Lost Poet's Poem:
 
 
The Treehouse
 
To every man
His treehouse,  
A green splice in the humping years
Spartan with narrow cot
And prickly door.
 
To every man
His twilight flash
Of luminous recall
of tiptoe years
in leaf-stung flight;
of days of squirm and bite
that waved antennas through the grass of nights
when every moving thing
was girlshaped,  
expectlantly turning.
 
To every man
His house below
And his house above-
With perilous stairs
Between.
 
 
My poem:
 
 
Of Mortal Men, n' Godly Sight
 
 
Hark, the heavens 'pon high
I leak of pale blood...
worn of stench, remorse
of eye.
 
Mountainous, the view
unsteady, unfaltering,
wild...
 
A level ground
paved meticulously,
like diamond studded tile.
 
The eagle soars, n' falls...
death an unwelcome comrade
hosting a soirée's call.
 
Like a stunted shadow,  
He reels into the mirrors
of long ago...
 
As laughter mimicked love
once, a most angelic light
of brilliance, so often had
stolen the show...