Poems
Here's some poetry.
Between
I will tell her
While my ears still ring
With those arhythmic screeches
That she cannot sing
Her talking voice is cream and peaches
But pitched? I cannot stand the thing
I will tell her
I won’t tell her
While she sings, she smiles
And that makes me grin
And bear it:
She takes her soul and bears it, while
To shoot the Mockingbird’s a sin
Hers is more the squawking style
I won’t tell her
I listen and my brain is split
My eyes fixed firmly to the clock
I need to run and yet I sit
Between the hard place and the rock
Dammed
I am dammed so crops can grow
So they can reap what they can sow
It is rot that feeds the land
Smell the flowers; I am dammed.
I am dammed by wall of stone
Yet years ago my power alone
Turned stone to pebble, pebble to sand
They built too high, and I am dammed
Past the world, I used to run:
To feel the wind, to feel the sun.
Before the wall, still I stand
I used to run, but I am dammed
It is strange, this damming curse,
I do not change, but I feel worse.
I’d climb it, but I’ve no hands.
This wall is mine, and I am dammed.
What shape was I, before the wall?
Did I flow? Did I fall?
So neat and clean, and all to plan:
I am the wall; I am the dam.