All is not Right
©Nov. 8th 2021, Olan L. Smith
Pixies hopping from room-to-room flying
From romp to stacks wanting to read what
They want to know only finding quizzes.
Read three, choose one, only one is true,
Whose game, what's your guess tonight?
Is it, A, B, or C; "Mayor Twiddle Diddle
Proclaims to all, to allow dreamers
To witness the other worlds of in-between,"
You know, the land of phantoms and
Ghosts, of fairies and leprechauns, the
Land of make believe comes true, and
The invisible is real. Ships flying through
Water likes it is not there. Aliens thumbing
Their noise at pilots, Fiddle-Thumbs
Has found your goat, come see me at the
Fortress of nevertude on the ice plateau.
The gods be real, the ghosts mere visions
Through the veil to another realm, not
Of make believe, but of other spheres
Side-by-side our own; touching, slurping,
Bleeding through, like skips of radio waves
Bouncing around from here-to-there, and
Hind. What you got to say, "All ain't right,
Watch the night, protect the seers."
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the Quill, by Olan L. Smith
Poetry"Poems from the Quill" is where I place current works that don't fall into other collections. It is here you will find obscure poems that range from constraint to free-verse. I began this collection as a contest entry, years ago, for what was then t...
