Poetry by Richard Kovac

Blood Lines
or Eden?
Sometimes facts
are against us.
Fact is
the noble brother
of truth,
and only a metaphor
separates them.

Acorn Song
Each of us
is limited
by time
and space,
but infinite
in potential.
We are acorns,
madly fleeing
the haughty squirrels
of circumstance.

But when we die,
the preacher
will saith,
"Here lies the shell,
the nut
has passed away."

Man On A White Horse
I was the Lone Ranger,
With my faithful
native American
Then I met Mabel
and settled down
to a farmstead
outside of town.
Those were good years,
but these are too.
The fields are green, and
my wife's not so mean.
As for Tonto,
the opened a casino.

Evolving Chimes
Tin-tin chimes
of winter's night,
as the moon evolves
from wan to bright.
Carpet of snow
may come and go;
the cold is dark
with all its might.
And I evolve from phase
to phase,
and many are the roles
I plays,
but shucks the zenith
is as clear as blue,
and I am still
in love with you.

Uneasy lies
the head
that wears
the skull.

Eskimo Pie
An iceberg
is mostly hidden.
It goes where
it is bidden.
The sun
will shine today,
and melt the ice
Why must it melt
my Eskimo Pie?
It was 103 back home
Is melting chocolate
here to stay?
What future brings
I can not say.
(Why should I?)

If nothing
in particular
stands out,
it's all a gloss

It Is Merely The Map
The database
isn't the thing
kept track of
unless the thing
kept track of
is databases.
Things must still exist
The map isn't the world,
and all projections distort.
Sometimes the map must
be shown on the map.
The satellite scans
the scene, but who
scans the satellite?
Higher and higher
giddy perspectives.
And what all seeing eye
anticipates the spies?

Social Isolate
Perched on
his crag
He Spies
The World,
and, lo! –
It is a worm
Not of his whim.

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