Quoth The Maven


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Quoth The Maven, Yet another Blosxom blog.



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Thu, 25 Oct 2007

Script for a Jester's Tear

The fool escaped from paradise
Will look over his shoudler and cry
Sit and chew on daffodils
and struggle to answer "Why?"
- Fish

[/curtis/poems] permanent link

Tue, 12 Jun 2007

Absence
makes the heart grow fond
Silence invokes desire
Space triggers the imagination

[/curtis/poems] permanent link

Sun, 17 Apr 2005 Mon, 05 May 2003

fare
I present to you a poem of sorts. Penned sometime circa 1998 (+- 1 year) in red ink on a legal pad. Copyright (C) 2003 Curtis E. Doty ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Calmly,
   I look out the

          window

and see a woman
 , then a taxi...

she is smiling  at
the driver and getting
in the back seat

The trunk closes and
a man...

         also smiling

walks around the cab.

Holding a baby to his
body like a big bandage,
that keeps his soul from
flying out of his chest.


Long hair,
  burns and a t-shirt.

We are the same,
  except I am single.

I finish my beer and
leave the bar window.

I go and put
on some peaceful
music so I can understand

what
      just

             happened.

I write this poem


I watch
  the TV shows
  the movies
  documentaries...
My whole life
  so far

And I see these
  peaceful moments
  serenity...
  And thought.

Always

Associated with

Asound ?
the sound of that
  peace, serenity....

Then I wonder where it is...

[/curtis/poems] permanent link

Tue, 29 Apr 2003

tear
today tasted like a memory from oh so long ago
They tell me it was yesterday but I don't know. In my mind it could have been a decade or a generation ago.
I think of souls traveling through water; each with a wake. Some stay afloat and drive forward with such vigor that the rest of us are constantly rocking and reeling.
Some of us entail to dip under the surface and--meaning or not--explore the darkness and depths below.
We may still see ripples and be reminded that they are still with us, somewhere, seeking, pushing forth through the blue.
And sometimes we loose sight of them. We cannot say for sure if they will come up; will awake; to take another breath. Or if we must challenge our memories to recall of what the surface was like with their presence.

[/curtis/poems] permanent link