Alexander Rodchenko- On The Telephone 1928

don’t forget old poets

old ghosts play in a orchestra

before painted ladies

across a golden bridge,

memory sepia toned

kodak instamatic

lingers too,

white house lawn

protest placards,

my poetry read aloud

younger me

more potent then,

squint at the sun

absorbing light,

nature my bus to salvation

notation and tune

may argue with me,

i know where i belong,

war and ever wishing peace

the lick of history

cannot salve wounds so many,

shade of tree a haunted place

my grave and i

knew what path was ahead,

so remember and read

wisdom is a growing child

needing nurture along

the way