John Walls (10-15-73 / Earth)
Access them early, but slowly. Before sight or text.
The stems of dreams: the wanton spring-picked
Full-bloomed flowers...Rx, Rx.
Don't look to the past, or ahead,
Nor down or up for that matter.
Have some manners and dial in and to what's within...
Pay little mind if you get the wrong number,
Just dial again, and again.
Spill it, vent it, scream it, cry it,
Or pontificate on the dirty soap box 'cause you stand upon It;
For the cold washing waters has not yet cleansed
The hands, head and heart...your Spirit!
We begin to tell all, the voice of an already spoken: HOWL!
With tears and ashes more compact than an ocean of fears-
Once we were drowning, until now.
Oh God, we sing your praises when the Egos and the Politics
Take a momentary back seat (a salivating nap) , the higher mind's slave.
What lies beneath, LIES in hard minutes, and easy years of Denial
True-self is good.
It serves us stronger when we are weaker later.
Yes, help the good friend, as the bad stranger becomes
Your only blue righteous companion;
For what is red flesh and Truth wills itself to be a friend-
Long term, long run, let's run the term of this white course
How could one hate something they have never thought to Love,
Or perhaps just never a term such as hate uttered the love of: 'MOVE ON! '
But equally-do we decide this?
No politics of the Soul-is Bliss.
c.2010 John Carroll Walls
Comments about this poem (Abject Poverty by John Walls )
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