Wednesday, September 25, 2013

The Whole Bowl Life

You wake.
You go to sleep.
You consume a few particles of food.
You expel a few particles of food.
You go to sleep.
You wake.
You swim in a circle.
You consume and expel a few more particles of food.
You go to sleep.
You wake.
You hear a voice
'Mom! The fish is floating upside down!'
You get flushed down the toilet
And eaten by an alligator

Monday, June 03, 2013


A Work of Prose Poetry In Installments
A Collaboration of Light & Love
Ladies & Gentlemen,
I joyfully present
The 1st Web Installment of...

Wanting so much more in life, other than his 100k lifestyle

He feels his failure inside and squeezes it into a little pill,

Swallowing the bitter pill and leaving reality for a dream.
Here I am, looking out the window as the sun surfaces,

In awe of such beauty from above, traveling afar

On a venture to find oneself betwixt the mayhem – chaos
How I so long to roam this new road I now journey
I hear the bustle and commotion, as we now descend
The landscape below entices the desire even more so
As we now, approach land and I see my destination
I can feel the rush of the adventure, racing passionately
How it seemed forever, so distant, the dream I envisioned
Time has now come, to initiate this new course of action
All my earnings spent away, to live, as I have never dared
Breathing now slowly in – out, as the plane slowly descends


The wingspan of a Aeroflot Medium Distance passenger jet is 27,8m. Falling from the sky // plunging from the atmosphere // forensics will finally decide it was a glitch // in transmission, from the Navicore 870 cpu, which caused the turbines to stutter, then into the turbine was sucked a large-ish predatory sea fowl // whose bones became stuck in a flywheel // attached to a centrifuge // that centrifuge was spun by a rubber belt // re-enforced with fine stainless steel cables.

It so happens, that upon the day the molten steel was to be poured in the module, at the parts foundry of Bangalore, the head blacksmith was attending an elaborate Hindu funerary ceremony, in honor of his friend, who was killed in a terroristic explosion at the ashram which, subsequently, took the lives of 123 souls, at final tally.

Giuseppe 'Lucky' Frantellgio called in sick to work this day [the day of the somersault]. Unfortunately for us and the lone surviving passenger, as Giuseppe would always, always, always carry a pair of binoculars and a digital camera around his neck, as he trekked his path, checking the circumference of the Mt Riglettoni Tree Farm, as part of his daily chores.

The medium passenger jet, en-route to Lisboa caught a down draft and pitched its left wing into the very peak of those beloved mountain (3777 meters) before commencing to turn wing-over-wing, down to the base of the aforementioned incline.

Though not as famous as the Gran Paradiso, the bottom of this mountain is an enchanting spot where five rivers, three lakes and two valleys meet. This, indeed, is one of the most fertile spots in all of Italy, if not in all of the Mediterranean. This, however, is a privately owned mountain on a privately owned island, which has been property, for the last 1300 years, of the famous Marini family.

Let us trying, as it may seem, examine the wreckage, to find what remains of her passenger.


Larissa Marino never thought that life could end in such a cruel fashion
She could not believe what was happening, as commotion surrounded her
The screams alone were petrifying, how destiny could lead her to this moment

As the plane plummets from the sky falling far off course of what would beLooking out the window, she takes in all the beauty coming into view

Sadly thinking it would be that last thing she would see, on this journey
At least she made it as far as Italy, with the courage of something new
She hears an explosion, just before she loses consciousness

To be continued….

Copyright © 2013 Philip Pope / Lucy Martins
All poetry by Philip Pope / Lucy Martins are copyright protected by International Copyright Law, the use without written permission is illegal. All Rights Reserved ©

Wednesday, May 08, 2013

Zero Victim Status

This is written to YOU
Neither gender nor scars
Dictate these words to you,
All of you
(the humble & gullible;
the fiery & guilty)

You saw a young child wander down the rail lines.
Overhead, a flock of sparrows shoot across steel gray skies, pursuing a suspected American crow.
There is no train coming.
You cross the tracks gently,
you think,
to save your shocks,
taking a quick, calculated glance at the child,
further down the tracks,
under the cloud
of warring feathers

For the very first time,
you notice this child
isn't a child at all but a wise
soul choosing not to be
a victim of any particular railroaded solutions. 

You've seen him before,
walking along the river or across the seashore
at the foot of the coastal mountain range.
How could this be?
He must be at least
as old as you are.

Count it out the native way
Spring, summer, autumn
Spring, summer, autumn

How many have passed? 

Very Deja Vu, that.
At the intersection, a crow flies towards the ground
to tear at some dead thing, molded by the tread of a semi-rig.
Time flies and the crow flies
and the light changes.
You take a right 

Out of the corner of your eye,
you can't help but notice
Jesus Christ is healing the blind and raising the dead.
Since all literature is literature, 
you notice every phonebook
is a bible and every prayer is a song,
written from the very beginning
of time. 

The skies open up.
The rain comes down.