Wheels of Poems
The poetry blog of Bill
Wheels of Poems
The poetry blog of Bill
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Outside when it's cold by the ocean
he wonders back to the car
where the water is even
though the wind is chilly
he still needs a drink
it will cool him off
he has to find a motel
This is a lonely place
he feels apart from the world
he wishes he knew about tomorrow
and that he could forget about yesterdays
when the sunset late like it never
really went down
sleeping the van with headlights on
all night
forgetting to shut them off.
At midnight
he thought
"maybe now?"
but no.
the lights of the buildings
shimmer on the river
and the bridges,
fog at sunset earlier
the orange light girds the horizon
and sends out
to the whole at large to say "yes, now."
if you noticed.
If you saw it there.
It might be better thought to have been
within the falling down
(and then he rose up singing)
that happened suddenly
(they said he'd taken up a great big shield,
who said?)
If you have to imagine things
might as well imgine him in glory
some day you'll know
let's all remember.
When I decided to start dying forever I knew that one day I would live.
Why run and rush for joy on the meadow side slope
it's just a hill?
It's just a mountain?
It's just a heaven?
Or a fountain?
Or a reason for over bounding
and the willow wind is sounding
those birds which are rebounding
in the trees that are surrounding
the fields that are abounding.
And those linemen they are grounding
those poles that line the roadsides,
go up the steep slope through and easement
where the thickets are pricker-bushes
but berries abound for birds and the hearty
who'd go up there,
summer day,
late august
a couple of bottles of water
don't take glass bottles on a hike
plastic doesn't shatter and cut your hand
when you go to pick berries.
When he got to the end of his giant continues same rhyme
he thought "what if I never ever get back to this place where
I started to decided to start to decide to start living and both dying and overreaching and crying
but I knew that I'd have to rewrite it all
and I'm not sure if I'll ever get back here again.
If I walk down that walkway
and out that front gate, and close it
off into the wider world
where people are actually paying attention
and can just see the intention of the perdition
that seems to be there at times.
He calls it conspiracy. I call it observations of history.
There can be no in between for him.
His precarious world of privilege crumbles when he is able to recognize it in himself.
pity.
He is a fool and truly in despair
for the paradoxes that he, himself, creates
forever perplex him and he chases away even the most ecumenical
and foolish friend who forgives his ever flaw even as he keeps on bashing
trashing smashing the casual word
the little bit of historical
trivia that is like a bulldozer
to his ego.
This is a test page for the angle_spin_gauge.
Version 4.0 of this. To populate this little spin gauge collection I've used poems.
© 2010, 2012 2013 2014 2015 © Amillia Publishing Company . All Poems written by the blogger himself, Bill Perilli, of Natick, MA.
Despite the URL, this page has nothing to do with BattleBots (TM) from a TV show
This page is a test and demonstration page, non commercial, an offshoot of an artist blog.
