poetry – The Poetry Of J.P.

The Serapeum at Saqqara

Precision and prowess is
clutched within the bowels
of the serapeum’s stone walls,
proud geometric boxes
of suspicious skill.

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Atlantis

I live in Atlantis,
sunk deep beneath the ocean waves;
hope is mere semantics,
for my people cannot be saved.

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What matters if we stop these bells,
—the toll and knell of guns and bombs,
the monstrous groan of metal wheels
the murmur of a boy gurgling on hope
before his breath is smothered out,
if we cannot quench the thirst of bureaucracy?

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Amending Our Heads Into The Sand

Never let ideas die,
not with a man

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Where have the Lilacs Gone

Where have the lilacs gone?
Are they with the belladonna
that bloomed when we were young,
before the truth was known,
before the side effects,
before the taking of remedies?