A poem I wrote on Saturday, and forgot to post ! Happy Tuesday, guys!
Gold
Alice says she knows your brother,
Alice says she knows Everyman.
Once, the streets were paved with gold,
but now we wade through mustard.
There is a power play they hold up high,
the ministry of something chilly,
and down here the bells have yet to toll,
to reveal what we already know.
It takes a while to take a picture.
You’ve got to get the focus right,
the angle, disintegrate the blur,
no shake; the snake, a second skin,
the in-between of the invisible view.
Here we go again, seeing it anew,
the past, the future, present tense,
just redrawn, resketched, tangible.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, April 8, 2023
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