dpbowman

The posings of a poet.

Leg Acey


There will likely be no musical of my fantastical farce

No poems of my victory over vicissitudes which will parse

My mental machinations and venial prevarications

Nor dauntless deviations nor multiple mendacious migrations

So here I put forth dead man’s legacy in my own hand

And here I fault you not for declaring I have no leg on which to stand

From an age from the which my mind could fathom words

Were the power of flight to the future like a pterodactyl’s wings are to birds

I wrote or thought or penned or taught that words will save and slay

Enslaved enraged emboldened engaged and here my living words will lay

Feel free to dismiss my foolishness and intone “I’ll be damned”

It must be nice to once or thrice feel a mouth a mind so phonetically crammed

The world’s a stage the player has aged and also hammed

Up his part offered his heart and dash hopes where logs get jammed

So read these lines be not unkind and judge my name a loss

Words sink or swim here on a whim I burn them all as dross

At what cost on what coast do I boast oh most

Certainly impertinently as for this life I’m one of the wholly host

Raise a toast call out the ghost and raise the sail

Whom shall prevail who will assail follow this trail

To the start to the heart within my art

I’ve done my part piquant and tart

Taste and see the good of me

Drunk on words drink to the lees

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