by Thomas Feliciano
There was a meditating, contemplating, absent-hating drop of goo.
That saw a mesmerizing glittered eye-span tell no lies, and cut it loose.
A stumbled-fumbled, mumbled-humbled, gambled-crumbled, phenomenon.
From the land beneath, below the crease, of boiled grease, not nearly gone.
It flew atop the clouds, the silenced-loud, with lions proud and chimes of change.
And crashed against the waves, into open graves, the weak leading the brave to the house of strange.
Death cannot be escape because a man’s not an ape, it’s a shell not a shape; blind only seek flesh.
If you fall to your knees, then you may need to freeze, truth melts the degrees as it soars through the test.
But the oncoming swarm was for goo to reform, toot-tooting a horn: a victory bell.
Although struck with a blade, it was soft to be made, on the floor as to pray; removing the spell.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
As an artist by nature, and a romantic by trade, poetry is the logical medium for Feliciano to express himself. His poetic style is a hodgepodge: basically whatever escapes the pen. Also a hip-hop musician, as well as a writer of short stories and novels, journalism, screenplays, translation, and amateur philosophy, writing seems to be his closest friend in a world of so many conflicting emotions. He does not limit himself to the page, however. Also a political activist, student of language, and an inquisitive mind that peers into thought from every angle, he is not an artist for the sake of art, but rather for the sake of the world., Most of his poetic works can be found at the website:, http://stewsie.wordpress.com
Last updated August 14, 2011