Wednesday, November 30, 2011

it is an art form

a river flows on its own
we move in concert with concrete on wheels, in walking

it is art form -
it is the city -
it is the echo of a single vowel,
      the spacing of a single numeral -(minus itself)
it is the heartbeat of all civil and un-civilized alike

there are scores here
whores not always in red - there are priests and paupers here
pilgrims in buckled shoes, pushers and politicians
toting charities with cheating
the holy nurse here - suckling the milk of mothers
counting their blessings, selling their souls

it is art formed -
it is nature painted as un-natural
   framed and auctioned to high bidder
   pawned for penance and a trip to Rio

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

posted for Magpie Tales 



11 comments:

  1. life is art...all of us different yet one...a number minus itself...ha i like...rio might not be bad but trips end and i think i would rather keep mine...smiles.

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  2. Thanks for this. It is very gentle and very true.

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  3. ...it is the echo of a single vowel....to the heartbeat of the civil and uncivilized alike....we are all connected in some way.....missed you Bkm....glad you are back.

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  4. A vivid visual of passersby, of hopes and other dreams. A lively read!

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  5. let's not forget the poets who pen here in the flow to Rio.

    Nice bkm.

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  6. This (poem) is art, a beauty, a masterpiece of words. Excellent!

    Anna :o]

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  7. I see the city in your poem, as reflected in this red chair. Nice job.

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  8. it is art formed and an art form in and of itself

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  9. it is the echo of a single vowel and the echoes of this poem I will hear for a long time. Beautiful, thank you.

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