It was a strange night
A Poem; Selection I, Of The Curation
Words sputtered from my mind
Like pieces of chain-mail blown
From the mouth of some
Ancient cannon, burning,
Sputtering, catching fire;
Roaring from my madness with
No direction, a chaotic
Shrapnel of words taking flight
Into the void of night.
I was the eloquence of Cyrano
de Bergerac, the stumbling
Ineptness of Stanley Kowalski
Rolled into one; a moth-eaten
Blanket trimmed in gold
Brocade.
Nothing could stop me. Not
Iron, steel, manmade link, or
The carcasses of those before
Me who failed –
Damn them, damn death,
damn the obstacles underfoot.
Sensing destiny, determined,
I would ride full-tilt into it like
Don Quixote; and if there was a
follower, a believer, a Sancho
Panza type who would hold
Me high in victory, or bury me–
I would be proud to call them
friend.
– The Texas Dog Poet
The Curation; Write For Our Publication:
The Fine Writer Of This Piece:
Another Piece by Gary Orphey — The Greatest Gift; Poem:
The Curation’s Newsletter:
A Recommendation Of Fellow, Hearty Publications; The Curation’s Newsletter—№I
A Springboard
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May the day beam Solarity upon You — dear Reader.
