Friday, February 15, 2013

Salve yersen

... sez tich

Whan yr flindered
    hits rite whar y are
spring o feelin
    gits t flowin clear
an bubblin up
    az if suckin air
passions demand    oh aye
    mid joy an grief
weds pathos to ethos
    ownin i am i afore itz me
birthrite inherent
    each bairn t cherish
'n betimes larnin wurld wurkz utterwise
so tis yourn t let free
    outta lap o void
as case we iz tolt
    wid forebears o yore
frum well-bein were ticed
    (course no witness were thar)
now tiz you az you are
    eyes a-streamin
or raisin y voice    hahaha
    don matter
yer iz whar y shud be
    widdin reach o yippee
oh yeah

july mmxii
tich backhouse, hiz poemz

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