Wednesday, September 12, 2007

The call of intent

Down at the root of inception
in the deep and dark underground
love spirals and sinks and turns
away from the call of intent.

Loud, too loud, the ears shut down
but the hum in the way of all hums
carries the tune of what should be done
along every step of the way.

No skip and jump can clear the hump
of unending procrastination
and love in this slump a blight
on the smooth movement of life.

Intention and deed like spice in a stew;
eat and be satisfied
or suck on a thumb after twiddling is done
and fade into the lost forgotten.

Love spirals and sinks and turns;
one day intent will be heard
and the weapons of soul destruction
will implode with the force of action.

One day, one day; there's no stew today
because I'm not cooking for you!


  1. I like the page and the photos.


    Writing on the Wind

    A winter's day dawned clear and cool.

    Knee deep in the steamy blond grasses.

    Man made clouds written on the winds.

    Scribbling like a mad man on the vault of heaven.

    Tree branches like bony fingers pointing at an empty blue sky.

    And every where the bright winter sunshine.

  2. Thank you poetry man for popping in for a read and for leaving me something to read as well. Much enjoyed your penning. Thank you.