Tuesday, April 7, 2015


one of these days, i’ll write about that place,
of my ancestors; that place of clouds canopy,
gilded, tasselled, canopy of jewelled nectars;
here they call them stars, nectars flow forth,
from the tips of radiance, spilling forth gods,
whose shape and form, gods only know of;
humans have yet to discover beauty of eternity
a life time sphere; eternity exists for the pleasure
of the one they refer to as good, pleasure he
spelled from the breath of his vast milky way;
not the way we read a poem, oh no not like that
how then? dont ask me that, i cannot tell; will Alice?
who Alice? she doesn't hesitate, when to eat or follow;
i’ll follow him then; who? whom? will you follow when?
enough! when is enough? tis not for pondering, this;
tis for sheer fantasy this, so read on;
if only i did continue on to write, and write,
and write those thoughts, of ancestors. there
is no colour in this po..e...m there is only sparkle.

Written for the prompt today at
Poems In April DAY SEVEN - The Tuesday Platform, a prompt-free poem, today anything goes....

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads