November 27th, 2001

Loon

It's BLATANT PLUG time!

Lord knows, anybody regularly reading this space is aware that I just love any opportunity for balatant self-promotion ... and another such opportunity just arose in opalcat's new community ... cafepressowners! So, if you have one or more CafePress stores ... c'mon down! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!


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Loon

Poem stuff ... oh, boy!

Yes, not only did I get another poem ready for your enjoyment ... but I've also fished out the URL for the VERY EXCITING CafePress store for all sorts of imprinted gear which points folks at http://i.am/btripp ... which everybody knows is the address of the Big Poetry Site! Anyway ... if you have a burning need to wear my face around town (and you know you do!) ... go check out http://www.cafepress.com/btripp ... just ignore the fact that some of the links are 404 and that the "new stuff" being offered by C.P. isn't up there yet (yeah, yeah, yeah ... working on the CP sites is on my "to do" list).


                    DEMOLISHED, CAST AWAY


                    this abyss
                    is so unyielding
                    we plummet
                    through its depths
                    no soundings
                    of a bottom
                    no sense of when
                    we'll be released

                    days curdle
                    and corrupt
                    we can build nothing
                    within them
                    we can find nothing
                    which would free
                    no pathway
                    for escape

                    all directions
                    bear darkness
                    all options
                    stink of death
                    we are dragged down
                    into damnation
                    we are hurtled
                    towards decay

                    there is anguish
                    there is doubt
                    there is pain
                    in every waking moment
                    and in our sleep
                    a sickness
                    which oozes and intrudes
                    with 24-hour nightmares

                    no dreams we have
                    which are not destroyed
                    no hopes remain
                    without the mark
                    of mundane boots
                    no prayers hold
                    within the heart
                    so oft rejected



                             - Brendan Tripp
                                11/26/2001

                    Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp
 
 



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