Sunday, January 24, 2010

The River

The River


Life along the Quandary beside the stilling basin
there will be no garden planted nor trees that stand attended.
A soupy smelly mess of flowing sludge inside the trough
where days we wait for heavens rains to sluice this smelly lot .

We grovel along the Quandary, a river never more,
in hopes of one day the reign of man will wizen to the chore.
Along the graveled edge of time we make the choices now,
beside the murky depths of quandary’s unclean shore.

We are perched upon ancient animal’s horns a dilemma
catching us un aware; to toss us from point to point upon an unruly
brow to spike our soul and prick the attention of what is happening now.
This nasty sort of awakening bounces from good to bad to worse.

To enlightening some to the life they lead to others it brings despair.
Some still sit astride a Unicorn while most prefer the Gryphon’s ride;
as mortal man defines his lot in terms of what is missing inside.
These last sort prefer to walk a path, to leave a trail for friends.

In a universe, where we all may lay ; between what is clogged
and beset with our individual ways. A green mass flows slowly,
clogged with effluent trash, the shedding skin of economic growth
and disasters from natures undulating mass.

To swim in the River Quandary a marathon it may be; to change the
world from a future of lifeless ensuing years, where around us lays
nothing but disgusting in-humane action, the refuse of mistrust.
Ethereal spirit beings! Can we use this parallel to define and contradict?

In a world that is intertwined and upside down, filled with doppelganger friends?
Do we want them to clog our future world with their Quandaries left for you?
To leave this once pristine world to our children’s dreams!
Giving a chance to another generation,

I ask you to listen to the echo’s
from the valleys of ancient dreams ,
as upside down logic clouds vision and insight
the parallel lightening strikes

while logical disinformation laughs
aloud with pure delight.

a. j. anon 2008/ ©

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Poem : Poem ll

Poem ll: Poem ll

Poem ll

Reflections at the Waters Edge
Based in an era 1768-1843
Italian Roulette; sort of ‘x ’

Big fish; eat little fish
tadpoles eat their sisters;
no remorse;
no indecision;

A fine lady; with parasol,watches,
un-moved, To dream in golden wishes;
kept un-opened
un-aware of fishes
One key;
to wisdom is seen in birds eyes; piercing
distant lies, some mate forever; some never
bond;Human hearts; are surrounded with words
and flowers are a song in the human heart
words flower; some have thorns of hatred.


Sincere hearts;
left unattended to fade as flowers wilt,
becoming ghosts,abandoning faith; seeking absolute
Un-remorseful worlds, nature is unkind,as ghosts become a truth so to
fish have little minds;fish know no truth; Symbolic birds; in legends past prepare some visions,the mythic Phoenix; omen bird in a room;A fine ladies;
watching birds to learn how to catch the fishes.Observing;
the weather; shadows reflected by tradition.


A skeleton key; may fit all doors to
open only few; an omen there in the a closet perhaps holds treasure; a memory lost to time;The church holds no sympathy for those who sin against the rules, compassionate forgiveness! A human notion lost to fools? Are we no; better to be judged; cast aside!
Who break the rules? We eat the fishes who eat their fry
and the birds who eat the fishes OH!
Let the women by the river cast no shadows,
their reflection,it’s untrue
mothers our time,that pillars of our earth and myth makers of tomorrow,
we honor you.

Jerry .d / aka / a. j. anon
March 2009