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What I Read in the Waiting Room of Hell


From the Tongues of Angels

Search And Destroy

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April 30, 2005


Screwy Hoolie


You've been so faithful this month, filling your pages with poems and delighting in them. I'm glad to know that the end of the month doesn't mean the end of the verse.

While you've closed the month with a defiant Dylan,

Screwy Hoolie


While you've closed the month with a defiant Dylan, Scrutiny Hooligans cast back to the golden days between Bushes when Maya Angelou ascended the steps to speak her truth at the inaugural podium.


Great way to end National Poetry Month. You and I share the same two senses. But you knew that.


I would like to express my gratitude for John Keats. He managed to find a well deserved place in literary history by writing poetry and almost more importantly a lot of letters all before he died at the age of twenty seven. He was a true master of wordcraft and I find it amusing to think what might have resulted had he lived as long as another favorite of mine Samuel Taylor Collerige. Hmmm. Maybe I should wax poetic.

To Be And Believe in Being

I am or so I like to believe
I cannot see my own reflected in night
yet that darkness would blanket
hold tight the surreal paranoid hours
wile away the darkness wasted

I may not be
a figment of my imaginings
circle to paradox of non-existence
a sweet oblivion of never being
never question why I am

I should have been
I have seen myself from afar
eons of time never known or so
man of all - master of SELF
live for love of living for love of life

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