The Poetry Of James
            Spoonmore


            
 


            
"Aether"

            
Every little celebration, victory or theft

            Comes around in finding things to leave a soul bereft

            If another knocking sound could swivel on a pivot

            I would have a gift aware that I could never give it

            
Silent in the claiming hands sits mega-opportunity

            While I connect the dots above that you will never see

            In any beg or pardon to some natural confection

            We continue living through another dead connection

            
Sacrifice is made from the invisible of
            people

            Schools built as churches mortar souls into a steeple

            If one has never shared a time outside of words and touch

            Their eyes could use a little help to see the world such

            
I pretend I do not have the world in a
            spell

            I act like some division of reality and hell

            Proper when the moment comes, you only fight yourself

            Shame that you are simply only thinking of your health

            
Better off with just a little cup of neo
            hemlock

            I would never teach about the motion of a clock

            I could take a tunnel back, purely to enjoy

            Every little moment spent when I was just a boy

            
Sad that reason has to deal with over complication

            The antidote to blindside me has new acceleration

            Everything is labeled wrong in joyous attraction

            Happiness is just an end to endless satisfaction

            
 

            
Figurehead

            
Leaning forward from the side one could
            see her eyes

            Watching snow fall from the sky she did not seem surprised

            
Her curled little smile spoke as if she
            were aware

            One could tell that she was thinking of her mother there

            
This moment here, her living one, in silent
            satisfaction

            Had led the way for things to come in spite of her distraction

            
The dirty putty in her cheeks tells quite
            another story

            It would not come to bother her that she would see no glory

            
This the day of his arrival, a departure
            from the dead

            Would see her through to some survival purely in her head

            
Out the window's other side is where the
            action found her

            Beyond the little crystal ball where memories astound her