it's only a hungry seventeen foot pony
shoved his inquisitive head through the second story landing's open window....
there....
see that hay/those apples?
...
living in reverence...with a degree of vigor...
a splish, if not a splash...
counting and recounting,
predicated
...
in it? ...
of course.....
an internal rhythm... an external one or five..or thirteen....
and, no...
...
up close and versenal
slink, periscope, to curse'n'all
to feel the surge, the lessening
the whip'n'stitch of blessening
...
trying so hard....to hide
behind the right plants, clipped. groomed to perfection......not one a whimsical topiary...
controlled...their health and conformation a must....they've been told....and must obey.....they cower, upright and dutiful....no leaf out of place...ever...
the on site sibling quilts....perfectly.....would a pricked finger have bled.....?
...
The light crisp delicate and thin
Sugar cookie with three chocolate
Chips embedded in it
Broke into several pieces.
...
to be unabashedly self-congratulatory.....
or
more modestly put....
I am taking joy in the fact that my instincts have not played me foul.....
...
we dance....
in all time signatures....
in all clefs....
we are song and joy...
...
with methods, most Draconian...
twixt pillars, sleek... Ionian....
shouts orders on the phonian....
then cools out, plays euphonium.....
...
a question of comparison....no room for that....it'd be senseless....
it is simply that it is complete.....the inroads..byways...colors and sounds, textures and melodies have been exquisitely traveled....no, not to an end point in any way, barring structure....
...abstracted, concrete...resolved....compositions lacking nothing! ! ....
...
to
no
one.....or two...
or any................with an exception: me....
...
and to smack...
and don't want you should give it no slack.....
there's a constant deliverin', bloobles...
...
some of my favorites: Stevens Beckett cummings Sandburg Joyce Lowell Bishop Santayana Levertov Thomas Paz Borges more...more...more......some here...alive! ! ask me who, if you wish... 'In poetry, you must love the words, the ideas and the images and rhythms with all your capacity to love anything at all' Wallace Stevens I like to write using words that have various meanings...that way the reader is free to interpret as he or she chooses...to participate, to apply/discern the textures/images/ideas via personal involvement.... I also enjoy being somewhat of a neologist....fun for me, and, I hope, for you..... as to parts of speech, well, they seem to morph, to renegotiate delineations...to play, creating rhythms, sounds and colors as they go..... Thank you, dear poets, for perusing my efforts....I've much to learn. There are those here that have generously made valuable information available....I am most appreciative... Love, D.)
'Don'T Be Alarmed...........'
it's only a hungry seventeen foot pony
shoved his inquisitive head through the second story landing's open window....
there....
see that hay/those apples?
feed him...
sleep now...
raven'll bring you a new toothbrush tomorrow morning....
stuff's bound to happen,
livin' acrost the valley from Cat Mountain...
I will chide Mr. Barber (most respectfully) for misspelling Delilah's last name. I don't believe that's how she intended to spell it. However, I will heartily echo his opinion. Delilah is a wise Seeker, whose stream of consciousness meanders gently and gracefully from insight to insight; changing the reader, always for the better. Her work should be read with a wry smile. And if you don't have one when you start, you will before you finish.
Delilah Conrapunctal offers an endless fount of wit. Puns abound in her erudite verses. Inventiveness and wealth of spirit characterise her work.
I've read 10-12 of them. Delicious. Like a cherry tart. She's (he's?) a real pip!