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pigeon
holes,
the place we all are,
the place we go,
the place we insert
other people
other places
These are interesting times
but made interesting only if we look
(are forced to look)
beyond our blurring blinkers
Comments, complaints,
cozy walks and crazy people...
we are rainblind
in a pixelled world
and we choose to
arrange the pixels
to make pictures
pretty or ghastly,
and dare to call this
new creation poetry
There is no such thing
as a poem without heart,
and there should be
no beauty or foulness
without a poem to commemorate it
for there is poetry in everything and,
far more importantly,
everything is a poem:
the bandstand and
the blade of grass are hymns
not to any 'creator'
who allegedly made us,
but to we the people
We, the people, are
the poem
the audience
and the poet
describing and recording this world
with the oil paints of our minds
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