jammed cento

retreating from the world, all i can do

where no man has seen the third hand
and i meet the Bishop on the road, and
i caught this morning morning’s minion

in an upper room at midnight

when i watch the living meet my last
Duchess painted on the wall!
oh, my love is like a red, red rose

for which the thirsty earth soaks up the rain

and flee from me that sometimes did me seek
with Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan!
Milton! you should be living at this hour!
 
henry victor     10.04.2013

making a poem

you keep pushing me from my depth

within my soul, my body, heart and mind
me to will a life of creating lines
breaking, at my own will, those lines

that others like me call it a poem

just like my mother, long ago
put her bigger hand on top of mine
gently, overriding my will, to script mine
 
that in school they called alphabet
thus seeing with her intuitive mind
she liaised with the master poet
submitting her will, in making a poet

31.12.2011