Poetry Corner

You like a little poetry, now and again?

Dig. Like 1961, man.

Thank God my poetry is better than my prose.

Or is it?

Sensitive and Unafraid

Nestled next to God
Whom she claims to know

One day
She took in a crippled stranger
Who was blind and corrupt
Unable to live, unwilling to die

She did not smile at first
Unsure of the blind and corrupt man
Though he was as afraid of her
As she was awesome in her fearlessness

She taught God and happiness
He was an anarchist

Slowly she understood
That the stranger did not know what she knew
So they came to an accommodation

Each would grow.


Joe Postove