Sunday, October 16, 2011

the Dark Poet by Bob Atkinson

The Dark Poet

(c)2011 Bob Atkinson

sliding through the end game
over and above
all seasons of the good times
into the club she'd come

gliding softly always
alcohol on her breath
not so much she couldn't see
or go out to meet with friends

was to be a night of poetry
performance by her peers
throwing emotions at the crowd
doing their best to bring cheers

her turn would come
in time they'd hear
what she'd written today
about those little children
and their miserable wicked ways

she brought to them her best stuff
to wow all in their minds
and tear at their emotional ties
by her psycho-semantic chimes

she wore much lace
there flowed a cape
away from her soft back
boots of black laced to the top
nearly to her sweet kneecaps

then came her turn to perform
in her own defining way
the poetry of emotion
always best of the day

the speaker called her up to 
the podium with starlight shining down
as if she were suspended
way far above the ground

she begins her set from a trance
nobody of her likeness
the way she moved as if she were
motivated by thunder and lightning

the lady of the darkness”
to the rolling of the drums
began the thunder of her delivery
as she had always done

she gave her dissertation
on the subject called “Love”
as drums chanted a melodic beat
to swell and shrink the heart

on she went until the eyes
of all were fixed on her
then she ended it with a slam
which brought the room to tears

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