Peter Black

Peter Black Poems

This human world is fixed with chains and locks.
Children are told with their arms and legs clasped,
'Do not think of what is not sold or bought.'
As they are led from closed box to hot box,
...

It is contrary to your station
Get on the floor
Slave master is going to chord you
hit you up blood, put your head in a hole,
...

I have a good friend called The Beetle.
We are true companions
And passionate lovers
Of the night and silence,
...

Perfection is but a human conceit
Impossible, though constantly placed
Like salt upon all things we eat
To be judged bland, good, always in need.
...

5.

Cherry roses and sweet things your hopes up,
Are in the sight of eyes that split the light,
Make new colors, stones for a diadem.
Spectrum bursts, your eyes such colors contain
...

6.

Burn it to the ground
Any structure or house
And stamp the bones and ash to feed the grass,
Raze the fields that rise in sweat and blood
...

I set controls to starboard,
Move at a steady clip and pace
Around the corner,
And make my way
...

In terms of life, at first sight people seem
Like ants: move sand, dig holes, walk in line;
But we make far worse a society;
Even I smoke holes through my lungs and throat,
...

Counting the days which were thought,
To be something better, bringing a change
Simple as a close and kind face,
To see not with eyes; but the heart
...

Regret the losses thrown in wind as sand,
passes all the pain from refused lips and hands,
But when I walk upon the black grout stones,
Down side roads, off the main, drone
...

As a kid I searched the sky for lost gods;
Drew marks on my arms for the demons to cut,
Wishing that I had a different face,
Changing my fate living in a different place:
...

I find myself living for the next day
To get to tomorrow, fall asleep, awake,
To find myself hoping for a new day,
To bring about a sudden switch and change;
...

Picking up butts,
I will not kick this addiction—
Handed a pamphlet with the strangest fiction:
Says god loves you if he's in your heart.
...

A man became rich enough,
He wrote his name up on the sun,
And drained the waters of the earth,
He burned down all the trees,
...

15.

And so it seems best to become like tar,
Black on the inside, pig iron wrought hard:
Sick and dead, so whomever my skins touch
Grow ill, fall apart, drips and is undone;
...

The monster within me knows no concord
I smell like blood and spill out vinegar
But on the streets I seem like all the rest,
Noble humans: Perfect, Honest, Blessed;
...

Waking for the cold night air knows
Life and death life wood and stone hold
Past and future in fiber rock molds
With my eyes heavy comes the fear
...

This film seeps from our skin, out of our pores,
Makes our clothing dirty and mold,
Washes out yellow and dinged,
Like urine and smells of fat,
...

19.

Let me breathe out all the salt slime that seeps,
Into my lungs, pours, when my mind and feet,
Kick rocks over the environs,
Mirrors and relfections and memories
...

20.

Who are they to say I need to sleep
Though at the sides of my eyes, I see steam,
White smoke rising from an unseen source,
Out of dirt, grass, couches, walls;
...

Peter Black Biography

A poet and writer)

The Best Poem Of Peter Black

The Natural World

This human world is fixed with chains and locks.
Children are told with their arms and legs clasped,
'Do not think of what is not sold or bought.'
As they are led from closed box to hot box,
Where the inner light has grown faded, gone
Out of the mystic; we forgot the songs
That put dancing into innocent feet,
Around tribal fires and roasting meat;
Now we chant dirges to the greedy gods,
Loving captives of interest and clocks.

But out past the city and sprawling ways,
Of powdered bricks and electricity,
Beyond the dead lands where forests were stripped,
Down to roots for tinder, mulch and toothpicks,
There is pine tree in a field of green,
Where the grasses grow tall in unbleached sun,
And wild flowers and hillsides run:
Highways of color in a rainbow hue.
Untouched by mankind, nature does not know,

The human face and the human disdain
For living things in their right and proper place.
The birds do not know our clamorous throng.
Above those flowers, breeding butterflies,
Dance their love in a ballet of twists,
Bellow dragonflies that ride the highwinds;
And under the pine in a perfect shade,
There is no care for what money is made.
From the branches hang thousands of silk worms,
That twist a cloth for the natural world.

Peter Black Comments

Aaron 07 February 2018

does anyone have an analysis of this poem?

0 0 Reply

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