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October  2010


Detail from larger drawing, 1971

What a Poet Needs
 (Things our quiet dreaming brings II)

I need a symbol that makes a connection,
Not a flash that wakes me hours before
The dawn as I monkey bar on a leaning

Tower of madness screaming, turn it off.

(aside) Meaning Iíd like to fire the director.

I accept internal chaos,
At the expense of all my art,
I own my intellectual nudity,
My head trips to mental alienation.

Quiet dreaming is a luxury where
Horror video is more often the case.


Sleep does not invent my poems,
But exceptions do exist, coined
In misty realms I canít explain.
Heraldic shields, Sinister and Dexter, 

(aside) The dark side of left and right,

Leave no room for hope or spirit
Thrashing haunted halls of night 
With weapons based on theory,
No Sybil of victory speaks lithely.

If you fear it, monsters win and 
Destroy your precious mind from within.


Day dreams rarely save the day
The carpet demon nips my feet,
Begs to have his anxious way and
Wakes the need for coffee and conceit;

(aside) Worst ingredients for art OR sleep.

I lay the ground for more nightmare
Deeds in hellish rounds of heart-skip
Ventures into darkest regions of soul,
But no spirits merge day into symbol. 

What we have is a failure to stimulate,
No evidence of higher purpose awaits.


Political humor aside, I move
We gather for sunrise inspiration,
Event of rejuvenation and youthful
Devotion waking the godhead up,

(aside) Sleepyheads not withstanding,

Awe and mystery expanding the universe
Into every curled and supple dimension
Of imagination and reserved judgment
That a sense of perpetuity can stand.

Lovers holding hands, ache, 
Throbbing for poetryís sake.


No symbols, no idolatry allowed,  
We are kicked out, no garden,
Adam and Eve didnít make it, their
Symbols point the way to Iran,

(aside) Eden became downtown Teheran.

Love and promises end in
Grimoire
Nursing homes or nasty divorces.
No amount of forced-in music
Can save them from themselves;

Love that revels to make a child
Keeps on marching two by two.


Quiet dreaming finds itís way by
Surprise, the sudden AHA! Epiphany
When something irrelevant strikes,
That day when two and two make eight,

(aside) And, pigs put on aviator hats.

Itís no more wintering adult children
No more summering in bar-grill-pubs
No more mentholated bourbon legends,
Everyone has a reason to end the rub.

Aye, there it is, a significant, 

Irrelevant, connecting symbol, 
Cosmic earpiece, godlike in a thimble. 


Conclusion in November
 

Happy Halloween


©
Jimmy Warner, 2010

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