Tag: written

So It Came (part IV) (day 3176)

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When the Doctors spoke up
The Government stepped in
One, Two, Three
Soon all of them
Inevitably
Began to speak up
For their subjects
(With Fear in their mouths
For it was Fear speaking)
An unknown
Hidden deep in their voices
Unsure and against everybody.
It was at this time
The Government
Of their loyal subjects
Began to circumnavigate
Each law the man named Democracy
Had written into books.
Government
Soon began to realize
That only a select few people
Were able to thrive
In this kind of environment
As it so happened
And it was as it has always been
The ruling class profited
Off the desperate and fearful
Backs of the ruled.

Early or Late (day 1772)

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I am not secret letters
Or a piece of written word
I am not Spring’s blossoms
Or twigs left to the wind
I am not warmth in a hug
Or laughter of memory
I am not sweet sun so high
Nor pale moon tonight
I am not bed to rest thy head
Or coffee to rouse morning dread
I am not sound from croaking frogs
Or serenade from happy birds
I am not late
Or early
I am
Or I am

Early or Late by Ned Tobin

Napkins (day 1622)

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Ladders have begun
To disseminate my mental state,
Unpacked and re-packed
Long term storage boxes,
Dusty cardboard napkins.

Zigzagged metropolitan markets
With wicker baskets lined
With checkerboard napkins
And leftover spices
Under soiled paper napkins.

This night train is lonely
When the lights flicker just so,
I spend spare moments of memory
Re-reading the same four lines
Written on a folded square napkin.

Busy at the Crossroads (day 1173)

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Before too much longer I had remembered what I had left home to find,
And it was at that exact moment my memory served me most correct.
I could only get there one step at a time
To a rhythm that was rolling like a Bob Dylan rhyme.

The scene wasn’t written in the papers, nor was it written down in time.
I was left with dried pens smashed up against my soul,
Where my concert was mid-encore;
Pinnacle of loudly unspoken madness.

Large Oak trees to my South side, Highlands to the North.
I’ve been busting these long clouds with my pointed perfection
Rattling off my unchained fancy-foot tongue.
And here I am all bustling around.