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| Living Poets of Baconery... or simply poem corner of Mits | |
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| Topic Started: Apr 9 2012, 05:28 PM (865 Views) | |
| Sinjin | Aug 27 2012, 04:04 PM Post #11 |
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Behind the Old Dark-Paneled Doubledoors (8-27-12) Today the sun enters slanting through The hole on the rafters like lasers do And the tallest tree that magically Grew from the ground askew Stands ever so tall to wave The yellow-green flag of the braves Many reside in this isolate chamber Full of authority, seldom disclaimer From the proudest to the meekest The thickest and the thinnest Some with animal-hide armor Some naked, clothed light like feather And others display their royal blues Emblazoned, embossed in romantic hues Most, wounded with scars of old and new And others protected, hidden from view They tell of tales, stranger than fiction Root of my aches, sometimes affliction And yet they found an audience in me When I should be in class at least till three But they make better teachers, I certainly agree For each turn of the page, a world caresses invitingly Or when confounded by boredom too much I turn to men and women and beasts and gods as such That I forget who is the observer when eyes would meet For perfect is their figure, their face, their nose, their mouth, even their teeth Or fangs and claws, an exemplary replication These portraits, busts and waxed imaginations Oh no! It fell, one leg, a peg like a viking’s Wanted, Atlas! Or the world enters endless spinning Or tumbling and bouncing, but no, I don’t suppose It’s made of plastiglass and breaks with just a throw Luckily, some servicemen appeared Lining in file, armed and geared With hard spines and strong bodies They lifted the globe of last century’s And still I could not understand Strange names for distant lands Like Prussia instead of Germany And then an empire of Austria-Hungary! It baffles the mind, it aches, so I bid it adieu And come back when I’m a History Major Politico Now off to the high walls of fire-breathing dragons Staff-wielding wizards, tomb raiders, sci-fi agents What better way to end the day? With a fiction in hand and hero to play! I’ll just have to remember not to jump from the ledge For this rickety bannister is no Ruins of Carthage And then, when the clock’s hands strikes quarter to three The old dark-paneled doors should be lock and it’s home for me |
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7:05 PM Jul 11









