Gaza Crossing
Life is good, she said;
crazed old crone
cackling in her soup,
straining it through white hair
and the picket fence
of her lonely teeth.
It's better to be mad than dead,
better to be alive!
And upon the stoney slab to spread
a conjugate of love devised.
The mad men in a bedlam
testosterone bedewed
sheets and shirts
and dixie cups
where swallows live
and petrels brood.
It's better to be mad than dead,
better to be alive!
And upon the stoney slab to spread
a conjugate of love devised.
The sailors upon their ships
upon the silent sea
cannot inhale the saltiness
cannot speak their plea!
Eternity of drowned speech,
and dialect futility.
It's better to be mad than dead,
better to be alive!
And upon the stoney slab to spread
a conjugate of love devised.
3 comments:
Oh dear. This is wonderful, and painful. Heartbreaking.
You are a poet, wonderful poet.
Thank you.
You are the first person to leave a comment, other than a young atheist about a year ago.
Actually, it seems others have left comments and I have been somewhat unaware.
Post a Comment