How long it takes sun
to draw redwoods from earth
Pales in comparison to
How long it took us
to draw poems from tongues.
Dave Read
How long it takes sun
to draw redwoods from earth
Pales in comparison to
How long it took us
to draw poems from tongues.
Dave Read
We consign our laws to Reason’s domain;
Neither White nor Red, they bleed no hues.
We take care our laws betray no Emotion,
Whose domain is where we house the Blues.
Dave Read
Raptors, above the trees,
screw themselves over the valley.
Sometimes, a zephyr will impede
or hurl them towards a far darkness.
Eagles needn’t scream to be heard,
nor struggle to make such good time.
Dave Read
First, let us consider how
near uniformed America is
to uninformed America.
Now, let us resolve to make
up our own minds – what to
wear, and where to aim.
Dave Read
Language knows nobody
is attentive, everybody
has their own blog
and dictionary.
Once the tool of science –
to measure worlds, to heal
wounds, and list foods to avoid
before sleep,
Now, cells in our palms are
mirrors of worlds for our eyes only;
reflexion makes reflection
the relic
Of solitude, of silent rooms
once noisy with authored
worlds, and our sole
imaginations.
Dave Read
John Lewis, Marjorie Taylor Greene,
Ruth Bader Ginsberg, Clarence Thomas…
Proves character counts, not race, religion, nor sex.
Dave Read
Whimsy whispers to poets and musicians, the way
Anatomy lectures painters and sculptors, and
Gravity tells dancers and architects what can be done.
Dave Read
It isn’t money, nor want of it,
that breeds evil in the soul,
but ignorance, which bores
holes where whole ideas
ought to flow from mind
to mind until we’re bound
as leaves on trees that
abound in sound ground.
Dave Read
Hear the petit jury –
Poems say what
Paintings show:
Sound and fury.
Dave Read
Poems and sex, alike,
we commit for love, or pay –
although neither is something
anyone wants to do all day.
But, if you ration them, say,
thrice weekly for a year,
you can lay the foundation
of an amenable career.
Dave Read
All the round world over, people
dream the American dream,
because they know that America –
carved from the dead, beaten heart
of British parliamentary monarchy,
Allows everybody their best shot. We’re
not stuck in slots of patronage and ancient
inheritance of booty looted from common
people, all the round world over.
Dave Read
The mass of us mumble,
but a few wail, in the aftermath
of children gunned down,
During the lesson on obedience,
which leads us into schools
of people, with minds that fish
Through the trash of society,
while I stare into the mirror
of my gilt, tin-lined soul.
Dave Read
Poets detect patterns
to call out – when seen broken
In the current of eternity
that carries us to rest.
Dave Read
This sounds new,
but it’s old –
Poetry ain’t art,
which is beauty;
Poetry is truth,
beautifully told.
Dave Read
Truth & beauty only
exist in your head.
Poetry is truth that
is beautifully said.
Dave Read
How to Sketch
a Napping Cat
IS
How to Catch
a Moment Fat
w/ Felicity.
Dave Read
These dandelion lawns, that line
the lanes and streets that lead us
Into tempting towns & cities, where
stone holds sway all year long.
Dave Read
Nearer the sage than the siren,
on the roll of human archetypes,
stand the poets, whose job is to make
Sense of sensation; although they may
sing of themselves, too, we’re glad for that –
it adds a dash of simpatico.
Dave Read
If we allow our globular brains,
and our orbital souls, to be pressed
flat for the accommodation
of screened devices, then, we shall
become like plucked blossoms,
or dead butterflies inside
the sheets of a silent book.
Dave Read
Molder of forsythia underfoot
signals the imminent breath
of lilac on a nearby bush.
It’s the pivot of Spring
in the Berkshires – a place
of pictures ever fading
into pictures ever fresh.
Dave Read