Dharma Life


Bob Dylan and Middle English
reign on this love supreme.
Poetry slides down walls,
rolls in cookpots.
Words simmer, bubble
strophes, stanzas.
We harmonize in cantos.

I look at my knee,
pick up a scabbed rhyme
dropped from my stony past,
and press on another phrase.

He brings me music.
He brings me books.
Kerouac speaks in his voice,
and Dharma is lionized
twixt silly smiles,
mouthing metaphors,

We're two wacked out intellectuals,
he laughs, then reads
from some medieval text.

I feel lazy like a sunflower,
swayed and dark eyed,
lifted out of the storm,
brightened in poetry grown live
with arms, legs, shaped
in fingers holding my hands
to the bristly texture
of his sweet face.

Report Story

byAngeline© 5 comments/ 4500 views/ 1 favorites

Share the love

Report a Bug

1 Pages:1

Please Rate This Submission:

Please Rate This Submission:

  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
Please wait
by Anonymous

If the above comment contains any ads, links, or breaks Literotica rules, please report it.

There are no recent comments (5 older comments) - Click here to add a comment to this poem or Show more comments or Read All User Comments (5)

Add a

Post a public comment on this submission.

Post comment as (click to select):

Preview comment

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar: