Monday, December 31, 2018

Poem: Fugitives

I'll be posting an op-ed piece here soon.  But for now, here is a poem from my collection, Gordian Butterflies.  Best to all!

Owl

--------

Fugitives

hurt are we,
troublesome,
our guilt dirty steak knives
that slew sacred cows.

unseen are we,
a battle over Andromeda,
mischievous in nooks
of faint mausoleums.

no preacher freed us,
no Sappho or Sartre,
no Buddha-rung gong
rippling our revival--

no crucifix,
no lysergic diethylamide,
no death or exodus
or creed--

we just saw.
exhumed ourselves,
swept off the webs
of skyscrapers
and cell phones,

washed off the dirt
of What-Must.
we looked at a world
beyond stress-chewed faces

and saw it was good.


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2 comments:

  1. The more I think about poetry the more I dislike the word 'like'. I'd offer substitute for 'like' the 'the'.

    Perhaps like this . . . the dirty steak knives that slew the sacred cows . . .

    But then who am I? An ex-poet. And not even famous.

    Carry on hooting Mr Owl.

    Happy New Year. G.

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  2. It's true that "like" tends to be overused. If you're writing, say, a story or novel, you probably want to keep it from standing out. I tend to look at the bigger context, and not flee any one word. This keeps things, for me, more free-flowing. Less strictures interfering with creative process. Plus I just love words, and trying to find ways to use them. Thx!

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