An Ode To Frowning Aka May I Have This Dance, My Dear?

Poem By Werner Schmidt

One
I can live with the fact
THAT MANY SAY GOD WILL DESTROY PEOPLE AFTER THEY DIE
while this type of believer washes hands, of course.
Mother Earth's red powder yearns for our return
all the days of our lives.
Somehow I'll always back my galloping grey
to out-fly the other horses of the apocalypse
then.

What's interesting, though
and probably even a pity
is that many of these will never search for
what their prophets really said.

Two
I can live with the fact
THAT MANY SAY GOD IS DEAD.
How juxta-poetic that so few of these
will even Google the phrase and
trace its origins
or that of any of the species.

Three
If, however, you would like to kill me
while I'm still alive or before I'm dead
we are going to have ourselves a
problem and possibly a quarrel.
WHETHER GUIDED BY GOD, DIRECTED BY THE DEVIL OR BOLSTERED BY SOME BOOK, YOUR FAVOURITE ROCK BAND, CLIMATE CHANGE OR NEO-COMMUNISM
if you want to whack me or
make me an offer I can't refuse
I will want for you and you alone
to look me in the eye
and declare in carefully selected
slowly … spoken … sentences
that you don't want me to live any longer.
That should give me enough time
to disappear around a corner
or find a weapon.

Four
On a lighter note, like those within E Minor
I'd like to bring this poem home.
It is good when fallen rain returns to the blue
to cloud my dreams of you.
Delightful when
flowers, grass, weeds and trees
try to do the same.
So, who are we to blame those of us
who breathe in all of this -
holding it for a while?
The smell of caffeinated darkness
spreads from our fires.

Come, sit down, and like my
yellow-beaked, brown-feathered sprites
let us open our mouths and sing
a song
as new and fresh and old and wise
as this morning's dew's demise.

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