Ok, here it is, my first 'officially' published work, a poem from 1967 that appeared in a national poetry anthology. The Vietnam War was escalating, there were protesters in the streets, Bob Dylan and folk rock were on the radio and the Republicans were about to be in power. I was 17 and in high school and sitting in study hall bored and just wondering what the big deal was about Friday the 13th. Calliope must have been bored that day as well. Enjoy and please feel free to comment.
BJ.
The 12th Day Of Never
by
BJ Neblett
©
1967, 2013
The
morning burst into a crisp,
clear
gay marriage
of
loneliness.
Soon
the shadows of night
are
forgotten and all around
is
a joyful feeling
of
sudden death.
It
is the 12th day of never.
To
the east the burning sun
is
slowly climbing the skyward
of
hatred and deceit.
In
the garden, Alice In Wonderland
type
figures have already
landed
their forces in
the
outer rice paddies.
It
is the 12th day of never.
Scheming
people turn in fear of
a
strange flash of burning black
gone
as suddenly as it came.
And
the morning air becomes
full
of cloudy, dust filled
rings
of crazy people in a
crazy
world.
It
is the 12th day of never.
Now
the sun returns to the west;
the
frightening flash of total
darkness
is about us.
Meanwhile,
hidden deep in alleys,
people
are drawing conclusions
on
the walls and returning to
their
coffins ‘till tomorrow.
And
what of tomorrow?
Why
everyone knows it’s Friday,
The
13th day of never.
Broomall,
PA
November,
1967
