blues of saint anthony

4 Comments

Tags:
  • Life
    • marxred
    • Just completed my new collection of poems, "Time Machine", a collections of Rock Ballads to set your own music to.

    blues of saint anthony

     he clenches his hands
    into fists
    while he sleeps
    he dreams of home

    he has slept
    in forests
    and deserts dreaming
    of going home

    he has always been
    a sucker for lost causes
    so when the time comes

    say a prayer
    say a prayer
    it will all be good
    and his soul will be happy
    his hands relaxed

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    ginga commented on blues of saint anthony

    01-04-2010

    marxred, Interesting poem of life and its affect. I like the subtle and stylistic format. ginga
    Reply to Comment

    marxred

    01/07/2010

    thank you ginga...just a hymn to st. anthony, the saint of lost causes. i am pleased that you enjoyed.

    SavVySam commented on blues of saint anthony

    12-30-2009

    There is a richness to your writes that bring me back time and again! Very nicely penned my friend! ~and as always~ 10!
    Reply to Comment

    marxred

    01/07/2010

    thank you savvysam! very happy that you enjoyed it!

    poetryrules commented on blues of saint anthony

    12-12-2009

    Beautiful! I love the repitition at the beginning of the final stanza. Don't understand the title though. Can you find a way to be stronger in the third lineo f the last stanza? Otherwise, wouldn't change a thing!
    Reply to Comment

    marxred

    01/07/2010

    thanks for the comment poetryrules! saint anthony is the saint of lost causes.

    HarverTomsson commented on blues of saint anthony

    12-12-2009

    There is something righteous about rooting for the underdog, and in a just universe, that person will be rewarded with a win, now and then. Especially THEN.
    Reply to Comment

    marxred

    12/12/2009

    thanks....hey we are both composing and commenting on each other's work at the same time...lol

    In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it's the exact opposite.

    Franz Kafka (1883-1924) Czech writer.

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