Amber’s poem
July 16, 2009
Sometimes you meet poetry in unlikely places – like Joe’s Bar on Stocking in NW GR.
Amber's poem
Proscenium
July 4, 2009
Cuckold the world and escape the scope, but still the world’s a stage for
Every One sees what they want to see, hears what they want to hear
Lies what they want to lie
Every One
Brash, brassy
Robbing
Identities creating illusions
Taking the Joneses’ and trying it on as their own. It’s easier,
You know,
To tear down a mountain than to build one up.
Interred in rubbish, it must be suffocating, this makeshift reality.
Naturally, “I wouldn’t know.” Wink wink.
Already – or, is it about time? – I’m tired of it. This
Vocation. This possession of Self.
Close my eyes and just write just see what flows I want to talk about a beautiful day where I’m falling falling but it’s okay I know sleep will come and it’s just a matter of time (or is it a choice?) before Self gives way to unSelf? A beautiful day and I can smell the roses, really, and the wheat, it ripples, a swing unfurls from the sky and I fly.
Fly.
