18 June 2008

Michael Grover

michael grover

Relationships are like mirrors.
Sometimes distorted like fun houses.
When you go there you'd best hope
That your views are the same.

We had one night.
A real human connection.
You let me inside.
Deepest thoughts and dreams.
Put your world into order.
What was poison,
And what was healthy.

Daylight came.
So quick you ran
Back to your illusions.
Where you feel safe.
Where you may hide
Away from the World.
What hurts most
Is that I still feel the tremors
From that one night.
What hurts most
Is how quickly I'm forgotten,
As you explain it away
To nothing.

give me a nation of poets

Let myself be conned
By a New York City slickster
Who was just trying
To rustle up some grub.

What the hell
It's only money.
And it doesn't define me.
I hope he comes
Back with that sandwich.
Which he did.

Now we'll dine on the dirty floor
Of the terminal together.
Wordslinger and slickster,
Waiting for my bus to come in.

Spent the week with
Prophets and mystics.
Poets of a better term.
But now they are brothers,
From different mothers.

So I say
Give me a nation of Poets,
And there will be no hunger,
There will be no beggars,
There will be no wars,
There will be dreams enough to live on.

red georgia clay

My father reached into a hole
Of red Georgia clay.
Left his mothers ashes
His arms were not long enough
To reach the bottom,
So he dropped her
The rest of the way.
When he pulled his arms out
He had remains of red clay
All the way down his sleeves.
Blood of the Earth.

translating angst

Books they come in the mail
Like words were currency.
Like we could live
On them alone.
The way things are goin'
Before too long
We might have to
Eat our own words
Not metaphorically.

Money going out,
None coming in.
Sometimes I feel
Useless held up
To the standards of society.
But then I remind myself
They are not my own standards,
But maybe that's just an excuse.

No use for this craft
In the real world,
Except to tear it down.
I've got dreams I can't remember.
A woman I can talk to
With strong shoulders,
And she knows she can
Lean on me too.

I feel it growing darker.
No one's gonna turn the lights back on.
We can vote for change
And it makes us feel good.
But nothing ever changes.
They only promise change
For the middle class.
The news it is talking to the middle class.
The poor are set out in the street
Like garbage.
But the poor still have their purpose
And that is service.

I can feel it growing darker,
As I fill page after page
Of this little black book
With words trying to translate
This angst inside of me
Into something useful.

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