Poetry |
Autumn
Leaves By: John Farmer March 4th 2004 Within her shell, an emptiness, a void, almost a dense star collapsing inside her skinny frail body. She cries. I see her sitting on a park bench with the yellow and orange leaves falling all around her, her dog, almost a pup sits beside her looking forward, as if to guard any onlookers and to stare them down as to say “Hey Pal, Keep moving.” She pulls out a wrinkled old tissue from her purse and as she glances around to see if anyone is looking she quietly wipes her eye’s and her nose, then proceeds to stuff her tissue away. A small smile come across her face like some sort of flashback from her past memory. When another tear fell from her face. The dog looks on turning his head on occasion to see if she was finished with this episode of tears. Here we sit across from one another in the park in the middle of Manhattan. I’m just a stranger to this town. I look on as more leaves fall and I couldn’t help but wonder, did the city do this to her? Or was it something in her life so amazing that she would miss such a beautiful day to shed so many tears? She pulled out that same tissue once again wiping away as she did before, careful enough not to run her mascara, but hard enough to push out the remaining tears out of her eyes. Right then Left. Then her nose. She shifted her eyes once more, this time she spotted me noticing her. She gave out a silent laugh as if to say “Ha, You caught me.” With
that she jiggled the leash to let her dog know she was ready to depart.
Then she started walking towards me, as she walked by I extended my
hand and she put 50 cents in my rusty tin can then with a smile walked
away.
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Cloaked
at Noon. Written by John Farmer Date : August 7, 2001 You
are insane, a victim, The mounting canyons filled with aggressive,
out spoken anger we filled through, we're wild, this human race broken
like an untamed horse. Lights filled in this spinning room, the stars spinning around, the walls heat burning, paths broken, children screaming. Tension mounting, the ravage beast walks upon us, breathing, the foot makes the world quake. Step, crouch, beat, fast, run, crash BANG.. Then, falling to it’s own demise of self loathing hatred. Its ashes blow in the wind. From mass to ash, this heart beats no more. Yet peace comes over me when I breath your air. Passion, peace foreboding reptiles snapping it's jaws, cupid grabs me, this hated shanty, yet I can’t escape. What
vows can I give you when you give me nothing more than happiness. Passive
is not life. Passion is to groove. Baskets of Rage cloaked, and now
it is noon.
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A Dying Man Reborn Written by: John Farmer. January 18th 2001 “A
man came to the riverside, and he closed his eyes, he closed his eyes
to the desperate hour that man has brought upon himself. He has closed
his eyes to the pain and suffering that we have allowed ourselves
to become. He has suffered the pain of scrutiny, he has cried over
the torture we have inflicted on this world, the wars of nations the
bombs the planes, traffic jams and trains. WE AS A HUMAN RACE BROUGHT THIS ON OURSELVES. We created these structures to follow, we abandoned our rights to live, to survive under these rules. The rules to recreate Eden. We never trully understood the grand plan man.... we never understood full reality. We have our artists, we have our businessman, we have our oil tycoons we have our burning man. We have our air, the polluted ego maniacs that thrive on trees..... while inner city kids trying to breath... The war rages on, politicians fighting for peace, How do we fight for peace. And the war rages on. We kill to make others live. Live another day to kill the others. The river is bleeding. Where do we go from here? The crying children, can’t you hear? Black clouds of rage forming on the horizon. We sleep the dance away. Will we rise from the grave. HEY,
HEY, HEY This is EDEN BABY. And this man then closed his eyes, The white light came the horses raced, the gods opened the heavens flood gates and the skies rained..... and
as he opened his eyes, he looked behind and smiled at the body that
he left behind. His wings carried him through the clouds, past the
rain within. They carried him through the city streets, the oil fields,
the pastures and underwater, through the mountains. Always spreading
his arms open to receive humanities deeds.... This was Eden, This
was Eden and then he flew away” |