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ma miller
Senior Member
since 2000-07-11
Posts 806


0 posted 2000-10-20 04:32 PM


reflections of a westward trip ...

westward
     | where mountains are king
     | and my heart's pound of flesh was left
     | waiting for a local trolley that never came
     | to take me away from a moment of weakness
is where the angels play jazz to the wee hours
     | of a morning that couldn't take the edge off
     | the night before's cherry sloe-gin drinks
     | that kept coming without my command or money
and the stench of affluence is so overbearing
     | i remember dry-heaving from the thought
     | of never being as rich as some two-toned punk
     | as he sharpened his knife on my best leather
once even the poor know you're from outta' town
     | they look down on you like you owe them
     | the time of day that they're ready to steal
     | right off your hard-earned wrist anyway
your strangeness increases exponentially


M.A. Miller
10.20.00

< !signature-->

My calling before me, let quill be my offering;
For to be called poet, no greater gift to receive.

M.A.






[This message has been edited by MA Miller (edited 10-20-2000).]

© Copyright 2000 ma miller - All Rights Reserved
Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-08-22
Posts 22648

1 posted 2000-10-20 08:37 PM


Sounds like a bad trip. But we can learn life lessons from every experience. Well written! I enjoyed this!

Denise

kcsgrandma
Senior Member
since 2000-09-24
Posts 1522
Presque Isle, ME
2 posted 2000-10-20 11:42 PM


I love the structure of this poem, and not being a city person, I can also appreciate a lot of its content.  Very interesting reading.

To love another person is to see the face of God.
- Les Miserables

Marilyn

wordancer
Senior Member
since 2000-07-30
Posts 809
VA
3 posted 2000-10-21 08:27 AM


I must say I really like the setup of this, it adds to the mood of the poem. 'tis a very strange world that you vividly write of...cold, cruel and sad...

-Lady

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