Post by CytheraPost by CytheraEarlier you stated that most of my poetry is based on that of others.
I can only go by what I've *seen* of course, but, yes, most of the
poetry you've posted here has been non-original reworks of other
people's ideas.
I don't have psychic abilities to see what isn't there like you claim
to have, Cythera, so I can only go by what I've seen.
Post by CytheraLet's see the link.
Sure, here's the link & the actual poem:
Corning Town
I'm out walking again,
ignoring the pain.
Living like a poor boy again,
streets and sheets of rain.
In the early twilight,
dewdrops on the glass.
Her lazy hazy sway,
through Midsummer past.
She's still there,
in her underwear.
But my mem'ry and I
can't make contact again.
Where ever you've been or
what you're doing while you're there.
I just can't concern myself,
or pretend I care.
Under a jinx,
black cloud of Charlie Brown.
Sometimes I'm up,
most times I'm back down.
Deep river monkey
anyway you look at it.
Just too concerned,
to let her go.
Looking through a mirror
somewhere in Shadowville.
Pocket full of quarters,
payphone is my thrill.
Knocking the Union,
seen serpents fall.
Out in the distance,
among the croaking frogs.
Deep river monkey,
across the divide.
This is the year,
we shall be blamed.
Fair thee well my butterfly,
I'm bound for Corning Town.
Let me watch your eyes smile,
for a minute or two.
That's not me,
I'm not on YouTube no more.
Some other Touchdown Jesus,
is breaking her heart.
Bon voyage, my Bluebird Girl,
I'll hit the road a while.
Up to Russell County,
with the little red fox.
Mist in the snow,
mist in the snow.
Missed her I know,
on these shaky streets.
I'm out walking again,
ignoring the pain.
Living like a poor boy,
streets and sheets of rain.
In the early twilight,
dewdrops on the glass.
Her lazy hazy sway,
through a sweet summer past.
-Will Dockery