A Poet Speaks

A Poet Speaks

A poet speaks
who listens to the silence
Phantoms of the night
Shadows in the corners
sliding down the walls
following sun down
into the fading dusk

The muse sparks
A fire in a poets’ heart
Starting a chain of thought
resulting in confused scribbling
on ink stained napkins
scratched into the neon glow
The night releases the ghosts

The pen pulsates
in the hand of the messenger
Writing without movement
thinking without thought
gravitates towards another heart
which beats in rhythm
with the madness

The pulse quickens
at the stroke of midnight
Awakening dreaming souls
leading them into wakeful watching
above the body they inhabit
to float into the words of rhyme
a world without time

A poet speaks

Listen to the silence

Copyright © CJ Clark

Poets of Beat

The poets on the streets
The poets on the beat
tell of rhyme and rhythm
Some of them repeat
Some behold reason
Some behold screams of rage
Others wander in shadows
behind stage curtains
waiting to speak

The poets on the streets
The poets on the beat
are madmen lost in the abyss
wandering aimless in time
Pondering form and space

The poets on the streets
The poets on the beat
are cast into exile
telling tales of power
Their muse spoke lies
dictating useless rules
telling tales of despair

The poets on the streets
The poets on the beat
are incurable fools
Some are just insane
Lost souls of pain

The poets on the streets
The poets on the beat
are called bums in decline
The mass produced trash
The hallmark craft they disdain
is only rhyme
created by thoughtless sages
locked in prisons of reason
The rhyming genera in cages

The poets on the streets
The poets on the beat
are condemned to report
and to repeat
and to retort

©2003 CJ Clark