(poetic revision to…..mar 11 2014)
On my shelves are books of prose
And verses more. With me they goes
Inside my head is Shel-verstein
He makes me laugh – his smile is mine.
And then a tear (I blow my nose.)
“Sarah Silvia Cynthia Stout who would not take the garbage out”
(A lovely lass; a lazy lout)
She’s all about our insides.
Where illustrations reside;
And, e. e. cummings came.
With senses wry, ne’er wrote a line or told a lie, which leaves me giddy.
(He did on at least one occasion, plant a smile inside and on another , with a single, well-chosen syllable inspired me to rise from a position of thoughtful repose to stomp around like Tonto’s Scout and voice a shout of quick-tempered agreement to something; that’s all, just “something”.)
The third poet resides in the timeless LAND OF “IT”.
“I Am ‘IT’
I have many names but IT will suffice. You are here to pay a visit.
You are here for an instant?
(An instant is all you’ll need.)
You know now that IT is Here?
You knew upon arrival, what IT was, where IT was and how long IT had been here?
We know each other.”
ALL OTHER VISITS ARE AFFIRMATIONS.
I knew that I could never describe IT to anyone who had not been.
Such a thing would require a monologue with no reference to time.
Or of measure.
Sometimes IT comes to me.
Moving quickly I am for a moment in time, a steno for the timeless voice of IT.
That may be as close to IT as I will ever get.