SAINT POEM
SAINT POEM
saint poem
Broken.
like the words or like the poem
or like the man who lost his favorite song
his muse, his wife his dog
and if it ain’t gonna walk, it begs,
it crawls,
and eventually dies
alone.
solitary-slow, old & torn up, screaming like some
bloody blood drenched heart
a sonnet that once ached, breathed screamed in life
history, ancient war. a ghost echo
still heard by soldiers shell shocked & fucked up
by the night
whispering dreaming secretly, for sirens.
wives….mothers….but never, for gods
but only, for what remains
and is good…right
and lo, tho I walk thru
the valley of despair I still hope
that there be some cigarettes there,
or corpses, celebrities with new boots
to write about
on writing paper
an inspirational travelogue
of the damned
of poems
as somewhere, in all of your nightmares
flying horses falter at the dome
and there are too many stars in the sky
the fireflies no longer seen
lost..and forgotten
and too full
of beauty.
So
Dear diary
Saint Poem,
Please see me thru another day
And may to thee I pray that the
words doth flow like the river
like life, like shit
the voice
of
old poems
mythic poems
death poems
haikus.
happy poems
koan koans
my poems
exist
to worship nothing
but the poem itself
for in the beginning?
there was heaven & earth
intellectual monkeys
and neanderthals in berets
and they, they all prayed to you.
Saint Poem…Saint Muse
Oh, speak to thee like
a third eye, transmission from heaven
(or hell)
Savior of writers block
Guardian of the ancient word,
Please, I pray send me another
terrible lay, an angry muse
an interesting day, or even
a sunset dressed in black
something…anything to write about
except you…
Saint Poem
Saint Poem
Saint Poem
______
R.M. Engelhardt 2011
