This Poem was Submitted By: Regis L Chapman On Date: 2002-05-25 00:40:47 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Compass Broken

presenting today an apologetic, a poem nothing prophetic following this blinking cursor and many commas so damn long, so fast, so many over thought dramas needless to say I hear your curse from here in the distant past at most, unworth the gross or any particular print of Van Gogh Sit down- quiet, silly goose un-know confound inner ear and path to critical sinking be pricked by the densest bramble here, for rose and worm and a moist ramble of type, term and typical soldiering fields of green wielding yields never seen standing in front sitting behind kneeling beside records of nothing placed but in what is kind mountains, temples assuming asanas the grace of air under wings of birds and god kings feasting on squalor the smile peals across the earth in a dawn of child fancy creation of the rain air plant ease breathe, please fed on leaves and moss in the breath of oceans paint the faces that face up and toward sounds of fog and flute of breeze the summit split in two by fire surrounded in water and lava and manna mix with prana Buddha, bastard and prima Donna little man kings burdened with burgeoned desire steaming toward rebirth raising up the low will strength pulls a long bow sighted by one blue eye which rise and fall sea legs on the wave always tracking the mark led by fish, brine, gut and ark fled into dances with unsaid answers breaking, sliding, crashing wind rush and hushed hand fall quaking, melting, crying and shaking music upon wet rock, soil rake and reign in ordered élan and still, the mule has to till staggered under yokes and collars steadfast, stolid, and sad whale's teeth and horse's ass what human and what race what doom and what pace blisters, broom rock and roll cracked into a dusty past like sand, shells, shelter, kisses slow trickle and rust fast thee, thine, me, mine and thou beknight, behead, bequeath so little travel for so much room vibrations compromise our landing gear which, what, why and where and how- Now encompassed underneath oh, it's over...there  

Copyright © May 2002 Regis L Chapman

Additional Notes:
Ah, how I pity you dear reader for entering into this looming abyss of a poem. The level of obfuscation of the point is quite profound here, but behind it, there IS a point... I almost have to meditate to get to it. Still, I like it in a perverse kind of way. I expect quite a lot of "What The..." and "!@#$%^&*!" sort of critiques here. I expect "Hey, your poem is way too...somethin..." critiques here. I hope you can reach past the smoke and mirrors. I wrote this in a very focused state. I was very clear on my intention when writing it. Only at the end did I add the beginning, as my apology up front... ;-) When asked to sum up his life in 25 words or less, Gandhi replied- "I can do it in three!" "renounce and enjoy"


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