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Passions in Poetry


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since 05-11-2000
Posts 296
grand rapid,MI, usa

0 posted 09-12-2000 08:59 PM       View Profile for epoet   Email epoet   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for epoet

I have written two poems in forums here.  They are entitled "Standing at the door" and "Opening the door to sorrow".  These are two poems about the death of a veteran of are armed forces.  One perspective is from the bearer of the news, the other one is from the person recieving the sad news about the loss of a loved one.  My challenge to everyone is to write two or more perspectives on the same subject.

P. J. Kotrch
carpe diem
A soul once touched is a soul once blessed by love

brian madden
Member Elite
since 05-06-2000
Posts 4532

1 posted 09-13-2000 07:50 PM       View Profile for brian madden   Email brian madden   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for brian madden

Great challenge idea, I have already posted this poem awhile back so I will post it here and it is an old poem as well. For me this poem is about the different perspectives of a habitat (a city) and how people react differently to it. I used a sort of cut and paste technique in the poem.



"There couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. They'd be dead in two weeks".

William S. Burroughs

The angels on floaters fall
to the skies with rigor mortis eyes,
seeing is never believing.
Arms spread out as wings
we once had as birds
sailing the turbulence of dust highways
and skeletal trees. Roman churches,
roaming home carrying pocket holes
of dreams bound as blankets
to soothe us and our somatic burns.
From here view deepening clouds heavy
threatening twinned
the seasonal fabrics
of Heaven exploding.
In distance beyond barriers
of this urban safari,
under shade of bus shelter
a ragged elder-female
chews, as naked lunch, insects groping
her gums; mouth sharpens into grimace.
On overpass, angels preach down
from concrete pulpits onto traffic clogged
motorways; the new congregation
herded to a standstill.
Not one believer among us in this exhibit
of terror infants severing wings of angels.

The angels on downers rise
to the earth with wings of dirt,
deny free will through constant control;
perform for others entertainment
compelled through corrected thought.
This is our fake Tropicana almost organic
our pride where family is clinical bred.
Some have stumbled on the trail
surrounded by chemical lepers feeding
disease in urinal rivers and parasite stench habitats.  
Trailing in tiredness, we want not to continue.
The yawning lion screams silence
at its captures, too sedated
to protest, all fight leeched from its spirit
with no lover at hand.
Within our enclosures, the angels are attached
by umbilical, numbly we swing in tire tricks.
The children cheer as adults constrained
have paid to observe not interact,
unaware of their cages, of being observed
in false environment,
always will believe this is natural.

This is the hour when the mysteries emerge
A strangeness so hard to reflect A moment so
moving goes straight to your heart" JOy divison

[This message has been edited by brian madden (edited 09-14-2000).]
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