Taste Is Victory (poem)

Taste is victory

 

Taste is Victory

 

Taste is victory

You may as well not look

Chaos, my partridge, is like

The eye of shame in poor attire

Swiveling and cocking

As with these fowls I carry to the village fair

Feathers ruffle and each movement stirs the air

 

Once I began to earn my pay

I, a valued citizen, and my worth

Manifest to the boulevard

I merely say, “What will I do today?”

My dear, it is enough

We do not rule the stars

They rule us

 


 

More on poetry:

Field Marks

 

(copyright 2015 Stephanie Foster)

 


Congratulations! You’ve found a bonus poem!


 

 

 

Back and Forth

 

The second time she tried to speak

About a ball rolled back and forth

between the two of them

A maniac’s joke of roast pig on a spit

He had his honesty, his traveling tent

To keep the rain off his back

They had chased deep into the brushlands

She saw the headline that had caught his eye

And newshounds claimed a smoking axle was the cause

The skid, the rollover, the holocaust

 

Snow piled so high against the door

It seemed no one had ever been there

Necklaces of brine on the sidewalk and a fear

That a dead man occupies the kitchen chair

A neighbor peering through the glass

Becomes the owner of his mummy face, his oatmeal eyeball

Ferries his soul like kerosene fumes that billow from a stove

 

Mystery Plays, Book One

 

 

 

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