ArpCast #76 - Rotation and Revolution

ArpCast #75 - Artificial Intelligence Movie

ArpCast #73 - The Stage, Directors

ArpCast #72 - The Stage, Actors

ArpCast #71 - Love Week, Guarding True Love

It's always somebody's bread

I gave away the bread at the table
And drank the wine instead.
I slaved away as the poet of the fable
And drained the river you fed
With your eyes, blue and green,
And distilled by ancient memories.

I turned away the peace of the rival
And sank our planned retreat.
I burned the treatise of the revival
And stained the musical beat
With my eyes, black and gray,
And poisoned by recent symmetries.

War wages, while sages grasp at straws
Indoors and amidst the crude feasts and failings.
In tiny cages, with beady eyes and fleshless cunning,
These same men battle nerve and powder
To bring a new level of peace.
"At what price?" asks the willing soldier.
At what price?

At my movie

The room spins, balloons pop
And party favors dance in
Three quarter time like ballerinas
In tuxedos and patent heels.

A man grins, dreaming stops
And ladies savor love in
Two simple kinds like matadors
In celluloid and black white reels.

This is a movie from another age
And how graceful it plays.
This is a telecast live and tragic
And how placid it stays.

The sky rolls, armies move
Across the ground to my doorstep.
The night bows, armies grow
Into boundaries and evils never known.

And the movie fades to black
Only to glow in the mirrors in our minds.
And the movie gives me slack
Only to hold back the tears from my eyes.

See the light in the distance
And hear the train reach the end of the track.
Sense the sound in the offing
And hear the movies thrown on the stack.

And the room still spins.