& Early to Rise

What to do?
What to do?
between the blinds
Sun seeps through
The next day finds us
Without a clue
But harried as we are
So terribly busy
To prove
Our lives are more
Than a mere collection of breath
Passing from this hour
Into the next
Everybodies poetry
&
Everybodies photograph
Is part of the app
Producing a song
Swelling as the credits roll
They roll on & on
An infinite train rushing through
Past slack jawed riders
Filling their cases brief
With cheques
And billable hours
Oh, someone's going to pay
You know they've got to pay

Morning Brings the Songs

Thank you
for the songs
you sing me
early in the morning.

For the images
you impart
through sonic means.

Sounds of nails creak
sliding into the flesh
of wood.
Birds outside
the global warming
of my air conditioned
photographic lair.

My God!
There are even beautifully photographed
birds on the calendar, 
across from the desk lamp,
on the wall.

Who should ever worry
over the poetry of spring?
Only salesmen worry.
Whether real or imagined.

Spring? NEVER!
Birds? NEVER!
Music? NEVER!

For these,
it's just enough
to be.

Softly We Rise

From a time and a space
Days have been numbered exactly
An hour only has sixty minutes
There won't be another added
Not even one of the 3600 seconds
Can be stolen from
These intricately manufactured
Clockworks

If that'd happen
They'd throw off the crowing
Of roosters
And the chirping
Of crickets
Then what kind of world
Would this be?

Once I thought
Time had passed me by
Like a train leaving the station
Out in the middle of nowhere
And a guy running across the plain
Waving his arms frantically
'Stop! Stop! All my luggage is in there!'
And all the apathetic faces looking out
Watching with a melancholy of inevitability

Time's march and its' fly and its' roll and its' crawl
Are noted in passing and approach
But how you spend this currency
Is your own business
To be added to your bill
Or your paycheck
@ checkout

Like when you're a little girl
And you realize someone you know
Is fifty years old
And you also realize that fifty years
Is a half of a century
And you think to yourself
'Half a century! That's mighty old.'

And you live
And you live
And you live

Until you're looking in the mirror
Fast approaching
The second decade marker
Outside of that mystical half century

With you in the mirror
Are all your past
All your fears
All your hopes
All your time
On the planet

You wonder
'How will I ever make this train?
There's not enough time.
I can't run as fast was I could
When I was younger.'

Suddenly the train stops
Dead in its' tracks
As if one of the passengers
Caught the conductor's  attention
And said
'I know you ain't gonna let that child
Drag itself all the way out here
In the middle of nowhere
With nothing but the clothes on its' back!'

The joy floods over you
As the conductor hits the breaks
Fifty yards from the depot
The engine exhales

Now you can breathe a sigh of relief
You have faced
The rushing wings of time
You have caught your train
And you are bound
For your destination

~ pmpope 2013

Photograph of Chlorophyll Depleted Leaves

Today in this
My consideration calls to you
From across this well populated
Social space
Human lives

As they move on their path towards
Who knows what?
One couple wants to buy a car
It's a guy and girl couple
They look that they'd be better suited
At running marathon and 5k races

Another young girl comes along to enjoy a lunch
She catches the eye of a pink wearing blonde
As she exits the establishment
Some may ask: How could I ever love you?
I ask: How could you not?

Answer a question with a question
May lead you to tag me as 'duplicitous' (at best)
Whose fault is it in the long run?
Blame the sun for illuminating beauty,
Blame the book for opening your mind,
The doctor for opening your heart
What will you discover in the landfill of blame?
Only death and decay
And of what benefit has that ever been
Besides to the autumn landscape

~ PMPope 2013

This is Vision ~ 10-2013

This video poem was written& performed by: 
PMPope.
All Multi*Media was produced at:
3dgeRanch Multi*Media
Charlotte, NC
2013 ©

The Best It Could Have Been

The most special million year sentence

could have been most universal
of the world
if & now out of nature
all come altered when
Another person repliances, becoming
criticized by gluing such graces
as livingly dropped in; the jury startled
you and the surface
high energy gravy,
a little more than scented out
by the terms out among the latitude in-country
Bacon, your eggs!
Where everything's bacon

 

 larger straineries come, possibly
As of a grand photory
tailed by a piece
of our Exhibitorium
of this only life chance

~ pmpope 2013

Somersault

A Work of Prose Poetry In Installments

A Collaboration of Light & Love

Ladies & Gentlemen,

I joyfully present

The 1st Web Installment of...

Wanting so much more in life, other than his 100k lifestyle

He feels his failure inside and squeezes it into a little pill,

Swallowing the bitter pill and leaving reality for a dream.
+++++
Here I am, looking out the window as the sun surfaces,

In awe of such beauty from above, traveling afar

On a venture to find oneself betwixt the mayhem – chaos

How I so long to roam this new road I now journey

I hear the bustle and commotion, as we now descend

The landscape below entices the desire even more so

As we now, approach land and I see my destination

I can feel the rush of the adventure, racing passionately

How it seemed forever, so distant, the dream I envisioned

Time has now come, to initiate this new course of action

All my earnings spent away, to live, as I have never dared

Breathing now slowly in – out, as the plane slowly descends

+++++

The wingspan of a Aeroflot Medium Distance passenger jet is 27,8m. Falling from the sky // plunging from the atmosphere // forensics will finally decide it was a glitch // in transmission, from the Navicore 870 cpu, which caused the turbines to stutter, then into the turbine was sucked a large-ish predatory sea fowl // whose bones became stuck in a flywheel // attached to a centrifuge // that centrifuge was spun by a rubber belt // re-enforced with fine stainless steel cables.

It so happens, that upon the day the molten steel was to be poured in the module, at the parts foundry of Bangalore, the head blacksmith was attending an elaborate Hindu funerary ceremony, in honor of his friend, who was killed in a terroristic explosion at the ashram which, subsequently, took the lives of 123 souls, at final tally.

Giuseppe 'Lucky' Frantellgio called in sick to work this day [the day of the somersault]. Unfortunately for us and the lone surviving passenger, as Giuseppe would always, always, always carry a pair of binoculars and a digital camera around his neck, as he trekked his path, checking the circumference of the Mt Riglettoni Tree Farm, as part of his daily chores.

The medium passenger jet, en-route to Lisboa caught a down draft and pitched its left wing into the very peak of those beloved mountain (3777 meters) before commencing to turn wing-over-wing, down to the base of the aforementioned incline.

Though not as famous as the Gran Paradiso, the bottom of this mountain is an enchanting spot where five rivers, three lakes and two valleys meet. This, indeed, is one of the most fertile spots in all of Italy, if not in all of the Mediterranean. This, however, is a privately owned mountain on a privately owned island, which has been property, for the last 1300 years, of the famous Marini family.

+++++

Let us trying, as it may seem, examine the wreckage, to find what remains of her passenger.

+++++

Larissa Marino never thought that life could end in such a cruel fashion
She could not believe what was happening, as commotion surrounded her
The screams alone were petrifying, how destiny could lead her to this moment

As the plane plummets from the sky falling far off course of what would beLooking out the window, she takes in all the beauty coming into view

Sadly thinking it would be that last thing she would see, on this journey
At least she made it as far as Italy, with the courage of something new

She hears an explosion, just before she loses consciousness

+++++
To be continued….
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Copyright © 2013 Philip Pope / Lucy Martins
All poetry by Philip Pope / Lucy Martins are copyright protected by International Copyright Law, the use without written permission is illegal. All Rights Reserved ©