Conundrum Jot
Poetry by Scott Bratcher
Festering, feverish, prated, pliable, penultimate, polis.
All are possible Scrabble words and come to us from
Diverse places. But something wiggled in the gloom,
Pranced about like whiffle balls made of lead or
Flowed downstream in vast oblivion -- that the last
Evidence of plausible screaming -- that the first look
At stricken ash, the coming of the Messiah as leafing
Through brochures, picking up microorganisms in a
Languid universe committed to roll up maps of your
Birthplace. Probably the dilemma of language experts
With pretense of knowledge. Probably little men and
Women who know a sore thumb when they see one.
It was throbbing when they couldn't see it. It was
Justified for losing focus, getting lost in the woods and
Testing the limits of expression with acrobatic turns,
Without nets and possibly an audience that is never
Capable enough to applaud. That is never generous
Enough to abandon their colorful umbrellas.
There is rain outside the tent falling fast from a dark
Sky. There is always the presumption it matters.
Scott Bratcher lives in South Central Kentucky, and his most recent publications have been in UUTPoetry, September 2013 issue. He graduated from Southern Illinois University with a BA in English. He has published short fiction and poetry in various literary magazines and journals.
Poetry by Scott Bratcher
Festering, feverish, prated, pliable, penultimate, polis.
All are possible Scrabble words and come to us from
Diverse places. But something wiggled in the gloom,
Pranced about like whiffle balls made of lead or
Flowed downstream in vast oblivion -- that the last
Evidence of plausible screaming -- that the first look
At stricken ash, the coming of the Messiah as leafing
Through brochures, picking up microorganisms in a
Languid universe committed to roll up maps of your
Birthplace. Probably the dilemma of language experts
With pretense of knowledge. Probably little men and
Women who know a sore thumb when they see one.
It was throbbing when they couldn't see it. It was
Justified for losing focus, getting lost in the woods and
Testing the limits of expression with acrobatic turns,
Without nets and possibly an audience that is never
Capable enough to applaud. That is never generous
Enough to abandon their colorful umbrellas.
There is rain outside the tent falling fast from a dark
Sky. There is always the presumption it matters.
Scott Bratcher lives in South Central Kentucky, and his most recent publications have been in UUTPoetry, September 2013 issue. He graduated from Southern Illinois University with a BA in English. He has published short fiction and poetry in various literary magazines and journals.
