Sunday, April 28, 2013

Poetic Dementia

The Lord's sitting on a haystack laughing.
The bees look up, tilt their heads.
A farmer's afraid to put his hand near.
The Lord pets the bees.

The Lord is going to pick you up
And use you in a way you don't expect.
I know you love the Lord.
I know you love bees.

You can't swear around the bees, it upsets them.
Do you know what happens to your communication
When you say God damn it, God damn it?
It gets broken.

As a nurse I receive a lot of jumbled words from minds crazed by pain, drugs, or dementia.  Some of the words make vague sense, like a poem.  If there is already a poetic form which is a transcription of such altered mind states, then this is my attempt at one.  If not then here it begins.

Posted at Poets United Poetry Pantry #148.