What Is Life?Driving in aWhat Is Life?
Silver Civic I see the
Significant figures of the world:
A white bum left on the street Sleeping perfectly in the
Shade of a traffic light pole With simple expressions of ease,
A Hispanic mother with a Child in hand Showing him the
Bum and laughing As they cross over to the
Other side of the street,
A black model that Speaks of great achievement
At there college on
A poster on the side
Of a bus.
Yeah, this is life.
Underneath It AllBeneath my hair, Beneath my shoes, Beneath my makeup, Beneath my clothes,Underneath It All
I am still shielded By my skin.
I Can Not Write A Poem I can not write a poem for you. I know this clearly from my lack of imagery and other poetic devices that I know not the name of. I can not write a poem for you for words come to me as they appear in my mind. Combinations of lines and curves that seem to make sense to everyone else but me. Yet, I continue to write for that is how I was told. “Write your thought for that tells you that you are human” (Quote from some distant person in my memory). NeveI Can Not Write A Poem
AnalysisI think I know why Pete BanciniAnalysis
Always said he was tired.
Maybe he was tired of
Doing the same thing
Over and over again. Maybe because of
Not being able to Have a soft bed. Maybe because he wasn’t
Able to leave the ward.
Probably because he
Wanted to go fishing
Out in the Atlantic Where they were said
To jump into your boat. Probably because he
Wanted to go see
His mom since
She had left him
Behind so many years ago. Probably because he
Wanted to enjoy a
Good sunrise in the Peak
It's 12:53 in the Morning
--
the world will spin around
will you spin?
get dizzy dizzy
and then
the bubbles burst
in the oven
warm soapy water all over your shirt
--
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