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

copyrighted 2011

posted for Magpie Tales 


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

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

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

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

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

    Nice bkm.

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

    Anna :o]

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

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

  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.