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Poetry Magnum Opus



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We stood before the Throne

you and I

In the Loon’s call The clearing

of clutter

The unreliable labor to make

ends meet


And the beggar at the door

says We’re selling these trinkets

To raise money to help children

grow closer to god and she

seems confused at my reticience

My avoidance My refusal

Is there anyone else here

she asks holding her box

as if it’s a shield seeing in my eyes

more than rejection I want to strip

politeness from my censor  leap upon

the table yelling Which One

Which One? If you have to ask

You don’t know the Gods

they are everywhere

In the washed cups

In the jars of herbs

The dried spill

one of us

must clean-up


Not the Hanging Judge

The God of No

unless multifaced

Nothing grinning

on the same side

as the dog barks

the cricket chirps

the fragment burns

on edge of atmosphere

Or survives and creates

an excuse for pilgrimage


I met your god

The one who uses

belief to abdicate

the sins of the Father

pedaling a perversion of love

spreading and subjugating

your young bound to a demiurge

Not Dead but Mad Mad Mad


I almost laugh

Instead silently say

Be gone Be gone



The look of doubt

as she leaves through the door

contains more Power and Glory

than this Witness

can bare.

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"If you have to ask..."

Love it.  :)

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Your work is excellent and relevant as ever. This evokes for me a vision of bright eyed pedants with gleaming white teeth, who wouldn't take your word for it if you said they were on fire... even if they were.


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I can taste the sarcasm in the piece.  I enjoyed at the music of this line and grinned at the thought conveyed

"seems confused at my reticience"

"Words are not things, and yet they are not non-things either." - Ann Lauterbach

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  • 3 weeks later...

Politics,  some people are ruining their lives,over ,politics.  why ruin the Joy of life ?  Poetry is just one of the joy's of life,amoung many, many other things. I atribute this to, two dimensional thinking. But that's just my opinion. only credible to me.

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David W. Parsley

Count me among the involved-to-the-end, doc.  I share your ambivalence toward these door knockers, have even been one in the past.  This poem is written in what I call the New Style of showing by telling what the narrator feels in the situation (as opposed to telling the reader what to feel.)  The last stanza is particularly poignant and even profound, made more acute by the surprising, clever substitution of "bare" for "bear."

Note: misspelling or word invention on "reticience"?  Not sure that I know what to make of it, if invention.  If a misspelling, just bringing it to your attention.

 - Dave

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