May 17, 2005

- Poem -

Forever in Class

- Prose -

And, the Brass Played On

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Forever in Class

Our sun will not show brightened face,
For few are sun dried days of Spring;
As hours and hours roll into days,
One’s mind wanders webs of lace.

Birds with no escape, stay put while
Rains and thunder voice their muse;
Sweet duets of storm and birds
Create winsome and delighted smiles.

Forever in class this student of nature
Waits with listening ears for the next;
Rooms with others reveling in darkness
Seem atuned to wonderments assured.

Laces of queries robust with wide eyes
Reveal forecasts of things already known;
Still, we listeners behold such grandeur
As only the nature of nature confides.

And, the Brass Played On

One day, I felt particularly vulnerable to global affairs of money and power, and decided to voice a peek into my feelings.*

With interminable brutality, international bankers, who addictively pimped garbage and vomited hogwash, composed their testament of chronological myths in frequent media blitzes.

Millenniums of pimps had gone to enormous extents to undermine citizens' peace and well being; pimps caused tax payers to take horizontal positions, to spread their legs, and to shut down any labyrinth of opposition.

Some global citizenries had attempted to mirror love and empathy, but their lovely vase of understanding was shattered by a deafening, verbose resonance of concocted masculine threats.

And, the brass played on in scrambled fears within old families of colossal wealth. They had become juggernauts unto themselves; their own shake up, their own doomsday that they had forecasted, had been behind every deceitful smile, and robbery of the tills.

*This piece was actually an assignment to include these words: brass, horizontal, resonance, frequent, vase, mirror, testament, chronological, verbose, composed, and shake.