Poetic Post

My poetry from Friday's class was not actually the same poem in three different "moods" but rather three different poems all together.

The steps below the building fall in gentle succession of four to five at a time, slowed down to pools of gray rectangular stones between like a slow moving creek. wider it grows as it nears the base of the slope, opening up to the black asphalt of the stony estuary.

We build our walls with the bodies of our own virulent young. "Keep out terrorists!" we say, only to pile more death and putrid suffering to the top of our fear. Blood oozes slowly down the glistening face, one more hero-- an invader from the land of milk and hypocrisy.

To know happiness is to know love. A brick in a quarry, a drop in an ocean, you and me-- in a world so full.



I am no poet.