Stood atop a heap of hybrid dung
declaring victory mine alone
with a parable & a chord to strum

A lucky streak – unbroken thread
following as a rule of thumb
with thoughts as cloudy as an evening sky
drifting on a summer’s breeze
thoroughly confused as I can be
snugly sandwiched between life & death

A sense of mystery on the decline
questioning the Fates:
Whose child am I?

Rise & Fall

I can readily recall
the invasion of mind & body
by some kind of entity or presence
to become one with me,
both friend & enemy – my laughter & my fear
at once consoler yet bane of my existence
filling a void – in need of closure,
crying for attention to details
as I review the mystery of my history,
raising the same old question:
‘Are you devil or angel?’

Whichever, it’s late
… and time you go …

FOREGROUND – [for TBT][1992]

I experienced a final breakdown in 1982 and now pace the bridge between the sane and the insane.

My adaptation has resulted from playing the serious comic, tapping the absurd, influenced by the sadistic, and calling on the ludicrous. My gentler nature comes through in a few works, but overall I remain the cynic.

As further explanation of the works contained herein, I reference Robert Francis in his work, The Satirical Rogue on Poetry, “What is a poet, after all, but someone to whom life has given a black eye? … Poets, of course, also write poems. But without the black eye no writer of poems is ever quite the poet.”

This world knows nothing of indulging the sinister heart.


From my first collection of poetry & art –
SELF-PORTRAIT: All Our Faces and A Few Stray Thoughts
© 1998 Emma Beane