JOE POEWHIT Poems

Winter filled brisk air.
Silent, quiet, winter bare.
The bear asleep in the den.
Tomorrows spring, only when.
...

Turn the channel more.
There it is again as before.
The glory of blood and gore.
Images fill my public mind.
...

To look at myself in the universe of creation. A tiny spot, a speck
in all of the infinite remoteness of time and space. Living with the
inner strength and spirit of GOD. A tool, a clay receptacle of his spirit, to
perform GODS will in GODS creation. Molded by the hands of GOD,
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Props scatter upon life's stage.
Images abound into parts.
Rigid fusions gather songs.
Wayward players dance long.
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MOM --DAD;
The TV. said.
Auntie;
The TV. said.
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Hobo-A, had been down on his luck. There sitting
on a lone park bench, his friend just came into view.
Upon contact, the friend came over to the bench
to converse with HOBO-A.
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Sometimes things in life just fall apart. I wondered about my life.
Here, only a few years, I was on top of the world. Then, GOD, came into my life. All around me, I saw vanity. Images, that I worshiped. Spent hours in reverence. They took control of my life and
ways of thinking.
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WINDOWS

Two open windows.
Into silent rainbows.
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BIG MOM TV.
Teaches me.
What, I should be.
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Through the years.
Haunts of tears.
Echo through minds.
A war very unkind.
...