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Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

A walk to the park
in a drizzle unhurried,
Oh, the heave about my throat
is gone.
And the asphalt gleams with desire-
My feet may slosh through
A puddle or two,-never mind
But autumn is at my feet:
The greens are gold and
Red flushed with fleeting clouds
Overhead.
Intimations
Of winter tousle my hair
Even as geese glides to their tryst,
Silent before a world gone to sleep.
Benny

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Where shall my excess baggage go
When death sends my spirit as such
On a carousal beyond farthest reach?

My spirit has its sphinx-like riddle:
Never shall my lips tattletale carry,
My soul shall have his will.

No matter something of vision I leave
placid lakes mirror rolling face of heaven
It is as though I have come unbidden;

Well seek not where wind blows leaves
Plucked out of its nest by violence:
Consider it as though in remembrance
Done for one for whom death came by chance.

Benny

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This gun can kill one,-
Loaded but my trigger wont
jerk at another jerk.
2.
Blessed toy in hand
Is my glock- no holy gow
But self winding glock.
3.
Pittsburg synagogue,
Prayer all stopped because
A Schmuck with his gun sprayed.

Benny

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Weary of visions the sun must unburden,
So must unwind the mind’s vaunted peregrination;
Drowsy beat of twilight
Gather dust from ups and lows
In heaps call their dead: No footfall be there:

Chanson de nuit, for which I am born
Weariness shall not dull the ear;
Nor the promise of day still its refrain
Chanson de nuit has come for me.

Benny

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There are many ways to turn one hour
In millions of vexations,
Paring nano-seconds in their nexus
And never knowing the loss:
My oneness is all set and complete
Past telling points of man-made laws:
Go west, for what I ask myself
And it avails neither
With east, south or north.
There are many ways to turn one life
In millions of pretenses,
Each one more bizarre to fit the hour
And never knowing the loss:
My oneness is all set and complete
And sound hollow to fit customs of men:
Go west, for what I ask myself
And it avails neither
With east, south or north:
My soul is drawn from One True Silence
And everything else is jingle
The motley crew of fools may worship
As many gods, but I remain aloof.
Benny

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“Over the past year I’ve learned

Some ends don’t have endings.

Some empty space will never be filled.

Sometimes your hands intertwine perfectly,

But your minds just don’t.”

Emma-Lidewij (selected from Chaos & Catastrophe ©)

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In 1877, when French actress Sarah Bernhardt (1844-1923), triumphed as Doña Sol, Victor Hugo presented her with a human skull. On it, he inscribed the words:

Squelette, qu’as tu fait de l’âme?..

Google translated it thus. To these I have this added in italics:

Skeleton, what have you done with your soul?
Lamp, what have you done with your flame?
Empty cage, what have you done with
The beautiful bird that used to sing?
Volcano, what have you done with your lava?
Slave, what have you done with your master?

Skeleton where have you spirited/

What desires your senses sported?/

Or nights of revels /

Bacchanals your flesh craved/

But never sated?/

 Poor skeleton, need no answer

I shall come to thy level

And shall make my own sum.’

Benny

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