Friday, July 20, 2007

"Bone Yard Blues"

Looking back retrospectively
Sitting on these rails
Retired in serious outdated attire
Many things have been heard
From voices upon my seats
One man sits by himself in the corner
His shoes tell the story of his life
A weathered face of deep lines
Caused by the presence of strife
The beggars who cross my floors
Many times in one day
Some do it to support their habit
Others have no other way
Blank stares into open spaces
In the hustle and bustle of the city
Impatient feet await
In a place where there is no pity
Grinding of my wheels
Shrill high pitches
Each curve emits sparks
Along the way
Strangers refusing to acknowledge eachother
Minds that have gone astray
Grinding of the mind
Shrill high pitches
Each curve brings with it sparks
Passing by cemeteries
Children playing in parks
Sirens abound to break the silence of sound
Howling dogs pierce the air
In rebellion they object to the invasion
Of the space within their lair
Vacillation within the vicissitude
The vortex created is paralytic
Woes go up quickly dissipating
Effectuality in the erosion acidic

© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved

"Western Sunrise"

Cactus stand together in silence
Windswept landscape of desert terrain
The plight of the tumbleweed across the plains
Roadrunners in the early dawn
Covering ground where Buffalo once grazed
Under the guise of smoke signals sent from mountaintops
That wafted amidst the earthen clay
Western skies abound
To the silence within the sound
Amongst the souls that stir
Upon those mesas
Where once lived the Red Man
Of many tribes they were
In those places entrusted
Signs carved upon wanton rock
Under the blazing unforgiving sun
Peace within the presence of ancient stone
Reptilian inhabitants who live in harmony
This starved place of beauty
Where antelope once thrived
The cactus fondly remember
Fragrant floral odors adrift
As they observe the tumbleweed
In its journey to places over the horizon
Knowing that all things must return
From whence they came

© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved

"Ode to the Oryctolagus cuniculus"

When I close my eyes
The grey Leporidae
Floats in the clouds
Under the moon
Wherever I go it follows me
To the hill where my white horse roams
Cool water taken from silent wells
My horse quenches his thirst
He too notices the Leporidae
Floating in the sky above
It has followed him at times
Over the mounds trailed by hounds
Who attempt to persue
That evasive hare who remains at large
Out of the reach of the relentless ones
For he only shadows those he wishes
Entering into their dreams
When he wants to be found
By the side of the brook
His heartbeat can be heard
In the bullrushes and willows
Moonbeams gleam off the water in the brook
His reflection along with the moon
He floats gently back into the clouds
Following,always following
Like my shadow he follows
He is blanketed under the stars
Choosing when he wants to appear
As he fades into the sky
My white horse returns to his place
Where cool waters are taken from wells

© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved