The Origins of Poetry

Random thoughts pulled toward a point of convergence,

like steelĀ filings drawn to a magnet, colliding, clinging, piling up,

fusing into a junk-metal sculpture, found art from lost purpose.

 

Copyright 2016

T. Allen Culpepper

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Garnish with Your Favorite Poison

The tequila might have been a mistake,

but you have to concede that there’s a certain glory

inherent in viewing a faculty meeting–

I suspect it works as well in the corporate world–

as an analogue of the Mexican Revolution.

 

Copyright 2016

T. Allen Culpepper

X Minus Two

My thoughts race to catch the beat

flicked out by the squirrel’s-tail metronome,

but their jousting for priority

proves as indecisive as the the duel

between the two red-breasted robins beak-fencing

on the front walk, fluttering

airborne in a rally of hits.

 

That the daffodils have risen again,

waving their yellow banners

in the advancing wind-parade of spring

assures me that Nature will marshall all this flux

into some kind of crazy order.

 

But what of my thoughts, blowing

wildly in the same wind,

swirling over the dull thud

that reminds me of the question

I sat down on the porch with my

mug of coffee to ponder:

 

How many margaritas are too many?

 

Copyright 2016

T. Allen Culpepper