in the chaos I stumbled over this image and I could just see them crowding around, waiting, waiting...

the house children gathered around

their window eyes wide in amazement

at a grey poet sketching silent words

long words sad words future words

tell us a poem, flat roof called,

emboldened at the back

their colours fluttered in excitement

at their feet the poet drew a stage

and stepping up towards a tomorrow he began

..

once upon a lost world

the magics faded and died,

killed by greed and grandeur

houses never young

born old and tired they stood forlorn

mostly in greys and pale ochres

music tears dripped dripped

from the sadness of the sky

artists painting protests

floated on the river black

but then came May

the anniversary of a butterfly revolution

when Mel the magnificent

ran the streets in a naked blue

houses danced in delight

their grey crumbs loose for birds

in blue blushes

magic trickled from the fountains

and in our moment of silent appreciation

we heard a baby house cry

and the sky wept rainbow tears

saved we were from the fate of old earth

.

.

.

“The poet must be generous. Trying not to lose even a moment of your supposed talent is like trying not to lose a cent of the interest of the small principal given you. Poetry is not a bank. It is the antithesis, precisely. If a text can be shared, so much the better. If not, it's alright. What must be practiced — assiduously, infinitely, and without the slightest pause - is anti-servitude, noncompliance, and independence. Poetry is the other face of Pride.”

Odysseas Elytis, Open Papers (selections in Eros, Eros, Eros)...

..trying to blend into corporate america is a mistake, I'd say for everybody, not just poets. This quote stimulated me to take up my poetry cross again, ok jesus are you ready, let's go...

..Drax..