The hippies came by with their dogs.
Help me learn what I am supposed to learn.
Wake up the dogs!
One dog thought of leaving, joining the caterer
who had empty buckets, but smelly buckets.
And why do we scrub the sidewalks
when God’s mother is about to let loose her tears?
What I see, it can’t be all your creation.
Where are you?
stillfugue 
#1 by Evelyn on August 22, 2011 - 11:04 pm
“And why do we scrub the sidewalks
when God’s mother is about to let loose her tears?
What I see, it can’t be all your creation.
Where are you?”
These strikes me as a furious oration ranted from a podium.
Again, love it.
#2 by Carl on August 23, 2011 - 6:30 am
Thank you for your comment. Instead of furious oration, could it be a surrendering plea from the gutter?
#3 by Evelyn on August 23, 2011 - 8:42 am
preachers come from all walks of life…
so, yes.
#4 by abichica on August 23, 2011 - 3:30 am
amazing.. its so beautifully written, and the poem pleasantly surprised me because of the tittle.. 🙂
#5 by Carl on August 23, 2011 - 6:30 am
Thank you for your comment. You are very kind.
#6 by Indigo Spider on August 23, 2011 - 10:01 am
I always fee at a loss for words because nothing I say can do justice to your amazing writing. The supplicating voice in this piece is perfect; questioning, pleading, yearning.
#7 by Carl on August 24, 2011 - 9:48 pm
Wow! You do keep me going. Thank you for reading and for the kind comments.
#8 by Kay Camden on August 23, 2011 - 11:27 am
I never know what to say either.
I see this as feigned confidence. Stating facts. Things observed.
Then the words shift over, and the voice shifts, like the confidence couldn’t be faked any more.
#9 by Carl on August 24, 2011 - 9:49 pm
I like your reaction. Thank you for commenting.