Cut Loose from the Hangman’s Noose

Mesmerized & stupefied
all in one lone lovely breath,
hanging on one solitary thread
dangling beads of remembrance

In dire states beyond distrust
in a world sprung from a foundation of hate
a body of indigestible evidence
suggesting there’s been foul play

One tiny speck of cosmic dust
shaking a fist at the big galoot
messing with my merry mind,
a cut-out character from an earlier time,
cross-checking my facts
to be free at long last

How It Goes Hence

Well-meaning silence of a Summer afternoon
Morning storms have blown away
Nothing but puddles remain, purging stories of pain
Luring nightfall astray, over rugged terrain
Mind flustered, in decay, colored a mellow gray
Rallying my senses into play
A public nuisance, in full display
Begging reality here to stay
Just a number of days ‘til I boldly display?
‘I’m feeling quite okay’
Engraved in name only, too soon yet to eat crow in pretense

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