George Bab.saay Jr.
Walk straight, limp heart and heavy head
En route to ridicule road,
Quiet shrieks surround the bend.
Faces scarred, blaze miles ahead
as do red ears redder than red.
Play dead on grass,
On stone, on asphalt wrecked;
Or bake the grass; and stare at stones instead.
Within that stretch,
while others bleed
and sell their seed
somewhere (who knows?) .
Still, the weeds spread silent, mindless
under hundred heavy feet.
One way, the other, or;
we all die, and will,
and walk and laugh and weep
and play dead no more.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Monday by George Bab.saay Jr. )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
- Algernon Charles Swinburne
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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