Thom's Poetry
I Begin To Know
i begin to know what it is like to grow old eyes fail, particularly distinguishing between 3 and 5, 6 and 8 hearing diminishes, and its NOT just rock music that did this. No Use it is absolutely no use talking to some people. they turn, fishtale away, with only blank ears and voices of echoes. no.. i'm not interested.. so i turn to my Richter scale romance with that good old earthquake Life, and trust that we speak a language in common, when we split all things apart, in order to get a new perspective on everything. Buddha would not allow his wife to become Illumined. in his name, people burn themselves in protest. the Middle Way is crowded with Zen Buddhists, all with one hand catching a fly, and the other hand clapping. Nothing is Still Forever. what you are changes, just like one's perception..of Buddha.
from America! from other countries, they shuffle here
to unload their genes into a pool of time.
stir it well and deep/mix with metaphors/
create a new mutant who walks backwards/
knows nothing of its history/and less of its creation
yet who stumbles blindly towards all strangers
as if they were competitors.
"MINE!"--it will repeat endlessly, robotically, as it is all taken away--home, health, history--even the very tongue they imported.
it was not the right one.
now they will have to relearn everything.
from Golden Gentle Ginger now the house is cleaning itself--
it licks like a cat. it purrs like a vacuum.
it whirrs with a blender of surprises.
it lights up with a clean ring
and sings of its new skin
the house is celebrating,
and we are within!this fails translation--a telepathic cat, who reads all
thoughts just by staring at you, and you stuck with
words and no cat.
To see more of Thom the World Poet's poetry, purchase his chapbooks, or email your request to worldpoet@rocketmail.com.
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