Poet Looking Out (poem) by Walter LaVerne Jones on AuthorsDen

Poet Looking Out
by Walter LaVerne Jones → (All Poetry by Walter LaVerne Jones)
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Faded dreams spent in lost love She said the worst is yet to come sundown she be gone soft sheets still feel warm hurt leads writer dead Perfection cast upon a rock splintered hard Critics standing in lines to the think tank seeking answers total the wisdom promised in dreams and books left in bond fires burning bright against night skies like witches lost to The world of misunderstanding and blind eyes and minds deft to keys waiting melody crying Trust you to a writers worst dream understanding Bleed a seed in greed Feed the gamin name As the think tank falls cold Each a minor star Falling fast Dumas cried Poe buried the souls Cold in graves craving Love as old as his drink William holds shame As drake smoked the opium Red as dead goes down Slip mast in Milton' s Greek Pure Aristotle lives alone Every quest in Iq 200 plus Urine caught in pools fed Tribute to a God played Faust lingers on the edge blood dead Blake with baron drop in a sea of faith gone As each plays in a tragedy from red in books Found in seas of truth blending mending reason Passion lost and shared in doors of myth As Penelope waits arrows passing ax handles Least of crease as no man screams in pain Good eye plucked Trojan horse burns at the barn Walls of Jericho fall Glimmer of old mixed with new True as deaths dogs holy grail In heir spin the mood Lost worlds fall of edges Least treasure be won Miller stirs America in mind travel A salesman looses more than soul Webster calls to the devil Yet the union stands The cost of freedom in blood Of brother and captain dead on ship Oh victory how cruel Listen children to the ride of Paul In a high hill stood Indian maid Dripping in blood of a nation born Fear as Revere danced for free As the sea comes in Washington Christmas frozen stand Poor boys never knew Bellies full recruit Farms baron Paid Casey joins the play upon a stage of fallen hero Never a bottle left hard upon a table next to the vain names As the dogs run through base trains Cowboys and old man see the need of the sea Ripple fauns a fatal blow as the five hundred rode into the valley of death Shades of pure valor Arthur draws his sword No one goes home The lake is a lady Swallowing up Vast dreams As the garter falls Doors slam Shams of coats And dusters Lay in water Before the whores Of the night breeze Rust in dust bleeds True poets on A Paradise Lost to the Naked eye As the night takes From words to lords Poets to no names As cryptic write Lays cold by mantle On a writers blood Chilled by morning light Think tank closed all are skinny dipping ink and melody lost

Reviewed by Tinka Boukes

Reviewed on August 30, 2007

Masterfully written Walt..yip Bravo to Jerry..he said it all!!

Love Tinka

Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)

Reviewed on August 28, 2007

Best fucking poem I have ever read of yours, Walter . . . I've read it twice and shall go through it again, and again . . . Far too much to decipher at first or second read, at least for me . . . I love the illusory riddles and the play on deception as you wander through each stanza(s), taking on the literary ghosts of yesteryear . . . Am I impressed? You bet. I shouldn't be because I know of your willingness to flirt with immortality . . . THIS is outstanding . . .