Poem By Valerie O'Rourke Kitts

I have a penchant for beauty
in things horrible and ugly as death is certain,
an uncontrollable eye that picks the passion out
yet dines on filth and ineptitude;
I have a penchant for pain.
Holding a meager mug borne in sufffering hands
to the heavy clouds
that I may quench this thirst,
that I may soothe this throat,
singed by my sobs and angry cries,
that I may drink pure, cool rain-wine from a silver bowl,
I offer my poems-those little bits of self-the good parts-
the eyes, the ears, the guts,
my voice.

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The Flash

Pale reed writhing
As if in ecstacy or pain,
Once kissed by the wind
And caressed by the rain,


Great freight train,
King of the Tracks,
Rolling drums and coronet blast,
Fast away clamoring past in the night,


Give to get, or let go?
What goes around, comes back two-fold;
What simply goes, in the heart of desire,
Goes cold.