Poetry for Strangers: Organic

even gun runners get the blues
and stardust stuck under their shoes

arent we all fatuous gits st paul guffawed pulling his beard
the souls of the dead weren’t particularly cheered

sipping on a stout dark as novosibirsk in winter
cleopatra cursed the mistake of the coin minter

castro dreamt of a man with banana hands
he said he was the king of the jungle lands

fate thrust the rake into the intrigue with the envoy
the scarlet valise held the secrets of the convoy

a parliament of owls stood on the stone architrave
as the painter finished the queen’s portrait in the nave

the last knight of the roundtable knelt and prayed
at glastonbury abbey where arthur was laid

all problems are buried under the blackthorn tree
but its fruit is still magic says ancient druidry

snow blanketed the cigar box guitar
faintly lit by the light of the lodestar 


For more, visit Poetry for Strangers: Organic



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