Let's test this stone, this dark, dreary testimony to
what has been, the people walking by for a time to drop flowers, or place carefully they watch the time pass, for now we see but closely, memories, they stir stone, or concrete when we walked down the lane. Or cobblestone, it was, to make it as such, red brick, then past the time that we came here with family, and yet the family tree is still there, inscribed as an epitaph to what we were, the heritage of 23 and me, or you and I we have drones to look at all of this, and try another way to get around death. But let's look at these stones, this will, where we can't know, we can, but then again, we are destined to lye to gravely say we can no more be alive than the road, the road, the path gone by, the road not taken, the gravely in black, dark and somber they watch me, once as a group, then pay tribute to who I was, and who was that?
0 Comments
Surely you know that we have been arrested,
jailed, for stuff and non sense and even less, when we tried and tried, in our condition, which was not having the right to try, or endure, on our own in solitary confinement, but for our souls giving chase. Let's see how we fare, too true to reminisce about something so far, or near, and yet our fear is real, we lack the ability to see clearly our mistakes, our addictive selves, our wine, our, well, anything else that we drink to dark, to no more say we are kings or queens. And yet, we live, we yearn or the day, the year, any other time than our present suffering, as compared to the next rendition, the next play, an hour or so, to see our suffering, not likely that we would like it broadcast, but let's see the money, the funds in altogether that would be nice, not suffering much. Let's talk of stuff and powder, dry but
explosive when all comes to a heard, when you least expect an outburst or noise - settling on the skin, darkened by the battle, soon to be over, or not for the tackle box. Let's see how you aim, and then we'll see about revolutions, and skirmishes, tested as though you could swim underwater for hours and hours, to extenuate the scuba gear made for another round. It's the marksman in me that says you can do battle, or take another swing, but quicky for sure are the paces, the paces, that take us far enough, a broad jump, then take aim, and look, and wait, or no, and soon be dead, and fire. Coffee is here, we'll make it, with cups,
recycling thinking alone, with neighbors new who we'll never drink with until leaving - see how they enjoyed it, dark, mellow, caramel, with steam, steam screams across the plane, bouncing clever customer you are not? Will you choose among millions of flowers, petals, caffeinated here, to smell chocolate morsels, yet fragrant to meditating hordes, they come only to sit, paying their ticket, entrance fee, liquid currency, slightly refined are they to notice how we design life? Never wasting grounds, we'll tray to save pastries only for the deserving of city lights, the sun leaves, shades, reverses course, returns to lower shades, actual shades to wear so to see swirls of milk and paper and art formed for us to sit and watch the deer pass by. © 2019 Larry Ingram King James was here when I last thought it
to be a verse, centuries old, yet living among the closely devoted, to England of old, yet preaching anew, she studies him, his art of language, of giant reference, it makes solid prose of terse discussion. Now we see a transliterated few with subscribe to this breach, this shaft of light among ancient buildings, of London, of Picadilly, of squares when preachers took, lit upon hearts, paid with blood to hold, to print this volume, and we will sit, reeling of of the crime. Freely we read, now lately, but spoiled with digitized minds, of God who knew a new Spirit, but old to the Kind, who gave ascent to scribes, write, write, of Hebrew, Greek to us who know this version, never to travel in dungeons where tried they to breathe Spirit to printed page. © 2019 Larry Ingram Starry snow you light a silver globe to see the way clear to crepes of flight, laughing across the night, we see you now across another table, to breath into this crevice of the last curb. Painting the night with flakes, you steer across never landing on us, to breath air with nigh a crystal, candles glow to us in our mind, with yellow guards in place, melting thus in this light, of blood, of moon. See the false, shrinking bank, see the snow now gone, see the rain at night, bowed heads reading for wind, for dirt mired in banks, wrapped about with umbrellas, dark, stately, circumscribing a good landing for our eyes. © 20189 Larry Ingram Sure. No problem. When the time comes
and time ticks away, we'll do it when the time languishes, and divorces mean that our lives are lost to courts and lawyers and money - spent on candy that is here one day, and gone. Then the sun comes up, I see the dawn, another trickle of time that says we can do this now, with coffee and a drop of cream, sweetener that, spelled correctly, will liven your day, until it is nearly noon. Another cloud, another time for dark clouds, for foggy, fog that will make us all draw and stand and stare at the train to take us away from here, to who knows where. We'll tell you, but don't fall asleep or we'll leave behind, and there might not be a next time. © 2018 Larry Ingram Lightening becomes me when I decide to
decipher the next clue, and nondescript phrase from my best friend who stages an event that is tragically a no go from the get go. And to tragedy, another coming event will take me closer to inside his mind, another gateway to see him driving away, a chance that was then- now it's gone, resilient, but not until, or at last, when I was at an age when I cared. Not now I see that there are decisions to make, or break the next scene that become me, when I see that lives are at stake, and i see again, that he does not really care, but to boast of a trivial game won - to see that this decision was not won or lost this time. © 2018 Larry Ingram If we could make it clear to the walk,
make it corner and curb on it's own, make it a nicely formed combat to miss nothing, weeds and all to eliminate greed, greedy edges spoken well of, spoken like a true walk, green though it wants to be, to meander through. Posts, borders at will softly make all the other ways look, look impenetrably, impassably, without all guards down, without a handshake to seal anything, but it actually, really was all the right protocol, protecting us all from virus, wicked in our eyes, right by all others. Then we'll never go that way, the drive, the car stays, drives, all by itself it tells, it wants to make do, expressly, impressions, tired though they mock, as though reconciled to all, to the very next day, how we embrace, seen clearly, seen last of all, we are known as if ever we will see an unforgiven soul. © 2016 Larry Ingram What do we do with this darkness,
wanting to forgive but angry at the unspoken, the tourniquet of unspent favors, unfavored by God in this moment - striking stones, snakes coil at that thought of the meanness of the moment when we will strike. But I didn't do it then. I missed out on the opportunity of a life of gall, spreading out among all of the rest of the star-gazers who will likely look past us all; it will take another trial before we can see clear, wipe the glass, the wind that shields us from our feelings. It's all I can do to start here and now. A classic approach to others that will now be molded into the past, into future dates, schedules locked onto whatever we can be last at baking in sun scalded items of our minds, we mind this talk here. It's only so we can reconcile accounts. © 2016 Larry Ingram |
Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture. Categories
All
Archives
December 2018
|