Ernest Williamson III


KkK Ernest Williamson III 4 Poems, 5 Paintings Nodes of True Fantasy I don't like you nor is the sun a god with an opinion unless we denude opinions and deem them truth well, what I mean to say is that I like you not like me but I do seem to fancy you not in my imagination I mean I remember watching you write in your purple diary on the steps of your brownstone last Saturday night you were lapping impatient rain drops and your eyes were light purple hazel mixed with concern concern for what your thoughts were telling you things like why am I sitting outside in the rain laughing messing up my hair again on the weekend knowing that a guy is reading my heart and spilling it poetically pitifully right now Within Excuses limping lymph nodes drab breasts with brown paint pointing to the marsh bellow above my droning within my attempt to sing peripatetic conga beats kiss my tears hell doesn't even long to suffer my soul heaven admires my delight in utopia though between the highs and lows a caustic gray subsumes normality though reality conforms to variables especially after 54 years of marriage Walking In Paris In my spare time I sing in droves to the lilies of the field I touch their hands gently as I denounce my being crushing my ego while wanting ability to sing without audience wanting the innocence of such flowers even while they frown and float unto the ground In my spare time I've found more depth to both the significance and drab pulse of traveling in the rain as the flooded earth smothers my Rockport boots all the while water leaking from my eyes fail to match the flow from the sky but at least some time some tears some rain passes my humanity even when I forget the thesis of Life's prayer Humility unto Life Life unto Death Death unto more spare Time Fabrics of A Still Life America moments will be blessed in the caricature of shame sex will be lionized and the basts wading in the grayish black ocean will pounce and groan with lust as death regenerates death moments will be dialectical mouthwash mint eroding ringworm sour cottage cheese rank dribbling down the mouth of a beast but these are not revelations made unto a mystic or a minion because with you in me and around all of us sin and digestion have melted away and seeped into the bast into the sinking vessel beneath the ocean beneath the hue of life beneath the kindred we birth but only for a moment

KkK

Ernest Williamson III

4 Poems, 5 Paintings

Nodes of True Fantasy

I don't like you
nor is the sun a god with an opinion
unless we denude opinions and deem
them
truth
well,
what I mean to say
is that I like you
not like me
but I do
seem to fancy you
not in my imagination
I mean
I
remember
watching you write
in your purple diary
on the steps of your brownstone
last Saturday night
you were lapping impatient
rain
drops
and your eyes were light
purple
hazel
mixed with
concern
concern for
what
your thoughts
were
telling you
things
like
why am I sitting
outside
in the rain
laughing
messing up my hair
again
on the weekend
knowing that a guy
is reading my heart
and spilling it poetically
pitifully
right
now

Within Excuses

limping lymph nodes
drab breasts with brown paint
pointing to the marsh bellow
above my droning
within my attempt to sing
peripatetic conga beats
kiss my tears
hell doesn't even long to suffer my soul
heaven admires my delight in utopia
though between the highs and lows
a caustic gray
subsumes normality
though reality
conforms to variables
especially
after 54 years of marriage

Walking In Paris

In my spare time
I sing in droves
to the lilies of the field
I touch their hands
gently
as I denounce my being
crushing my ego
while
wanting
ability
to sing without audience
wanting
the innocence of such
flowers
even while they
frown
and
float
unto
the ground

In my spare time
I've found more depth
to both the significance
and drab
pulse
of traveling in the rain
as the flooded earth
smothers my Rockport
boots
all the while
water leaking
from my
eyes
fail to match
the flow
from the sky
but at least
some time
some tears
some rain
passes my humanity
even when I forget
the thesis
of Life's prayer
Humility unto Life
Life unto Death
Death unto
more
spare
Time

Fabrics of A Still Life America

moments will be blessed
in the caricature of shame
sex will be lionized
and the basts
wading in the grayish
black
ocean
will pounce
and groan
with lust
as death regenerates
death
moments will be dialectical
mouthwash
mint eroding ringworm
sour cottage cheese
rank
dribbling
down
the mouth of a beast
but these are not
revelations
made unto a mystic
or a minion
because with you
in me
and around all of us
sin and digestion
have melted away
and seeped into the bast
into the sinking vessel
beneath the ocean
beneath the hue of life
beneath the kindred we birth
but only
for
a
moment