To You —
How Could I Forget? — A Piece To The Lives Without Hope
How Much You Dare To Move Me — In A Moveless World
©Joanie Adams — Joanie Adams; Gift A Tea: https://ko-fi.com/joanieadamms
A SONG THAT BEFITS THIS INORDINATELY WELL — Please Do Listen:
Sheet crinkle,
Uptight and farts —
Bastard steel,
No claws for babies —
An Apple — a through-ado/ a Pear;
So cheapened, yet so fruitful in despair.
A resolve, a retort,
Done in utter function —
A jeer, a fear,
No manner for the eyes —
Onto you, here, in a field,
Sojourn never, for the churning of wheels
Is all the pension in this life for you;
How much you dare me to —
How much are you willing?
Cross and cross a paper trail,
But without a hope for repeating —
How Could I Forget?
How Much You Dare To Move Me — In A Moveless World
You make this damn thing old,
Come down, and Cry!
You make this damn thing old,
Break down, and shy!
How could I forget that —
Pure sensation; forget me too!
Comes the craft — a craft without deviation,
A peddling to the smoke stacks
Of an ore made repugnant —
You chide and you die,
Under the yoke of firmer masters
Yet you demand yourself too shy!
Whence the cycles go,
With the circuit of tides, and yearly throes —
You flip and you dine, on the horse’s wine,
— Wine? — and sawdust to banter!—
Whilst the evening abides, return the earth
By shellfire into a hugging mattress
Around your temple and bodies;
Dizzy on the broken body,
Of a newborn’s unlikely folly,
You graze, never too important to believe
That special word of hope;
Nothing could garnish despair, or cause
An eruption of hurt, then a false hope;
Prophet come, prophet so —
Each itching the skin of the old;
Favor one, favor all, none shall stand,
Taller stand— a line dramatic is all that
Comes, and comes, it comes again;
Till a fevered brow, takes the one to apprehend.
So hail beyond the pleasant mark,
Make your happiness upon the mere;
Erect on the thoughtlessness of pleasurable marks —
Salute and brave all the wider,
For her cheapening grin, is never far
From the fancying of cattle and grain.
The fit, rip-till-final tide, is ever dear;
Death summons her, and I to claim it.
How Could I Forget You —
The life without hope, life made to be the burden;
The life to be the siring bosom of the wanton desires
Of a cheapening stratum —
How Could I Forget You —
If the sum of I wasn’t so cheap too;
How did I dare forget you,
I’ll remain insipid, and listless on that.
A foolish gathering of ideas,
Remains my thoughtless throe —
A Seer, yet I haven’t seen it all.
A puddle that deepens in the black,
Never forgets its awful pension of the despairing tact.
Now isn’t that so…
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The CURATION — THE FINE RABBLE’S PUBLICATION:
A CRY OF WISTFUL NATURES — SIGHTSEER’S POEMS:
As ever, Dear Reader.
