Wednesday, January 13, 2016

Poems, serious and silly

Winter Complaints

Swollen, stiff, and sore —
my hands can't take any more!
I need a tropical shore
where the temperatures soar

and I can't see my breath.
This weather will be my death!

It chills me to my core,
It's all that I abhor!
Impossible to ignore!
So I ask as I've asked before

and all I ask is, please,
some place where I don't freeze.

Stephen Brooke ©2016


Sing praises of a dying god;
the candles flicker to mark his passage,
the Dow rises and bows in homage,
and his name is lauded all the louder

by the true believer. They all die,
each nation, each god, each comforting
belief, but the dead husks are yet
worshiped for a season or two.

Let the priests hold their noses;
we'll paint lifelike colors on decaying
faces, so they might stare down
with vacant eye upon humanity.

We stare up with no more comprehension.
Everything must go in this final
sale; do not the signs tell us so?
Everything must go and be forgotten.

Stephen Brooke ©2016

Two poems, one silly, one sort of serious...which is which?

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