I know some do not care for prose poems. That's cool. I am working on putting together a manuscript of my prose poems. This is a new one and I'd like any feedback. Thanks.
Among The Gods
Sailing away from the land, away from the rocks and cliffs and live oaks bursting through the Spanish moss, the wind driving us on to the lusting gods
, stare at the approaching waves with no regret or teeming anguish, no looking back, turn to the bow, sail away from the retreating land, soon to disembark full of pride. There hide from the gods and their endless clawing and cawing, screaming and scheming, their red eyes firing, messengers sent away clinging to harps and flutes. The gods still depend on the voice, mouth to ear, no printed words, and the lull of music, notes planted deep in valleys and hills of home. Ask no questions until you are alone behind the thick twilight as the spring dogwoods whisper blooms onto the forest floor. Sweep the jaybirds from the gardens, ignore the peacocks and padres whose amorous gaze makes you shudder, hoarding the intoxication of their beauty, demonically beautiful but no different than a sprout refusing to drive through soil.
In the mind of Time
Among The Gods
Threaded Mode
