General Poetry posted November 6, 2017


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An encounter with a street preachin' man.

When The Sun Begins To Rise

by easyeverett1

A prophet of the people, so this ragged stranger said;
Divining past and future from the crystal in his head.
He preaches on the corner to the homeless ev'ry night -
Just gaze into his laser eyes to feel the fire and light!

Some say the man is preachin' like a demon from the dead -
But hear that ragged preacher man as souls are getting fed.
He wears a tacky, shabby coat and tattered shabby hat,
A fashion maven, maybe not, but that's not where he's at.

he mixes metaphor and simile
with syntax all his own;
reversed conversion to simplicity
in freaky monotone.

The particles of speech are not his strongest tour de force
But never does he vary from this strange and vexing course,
And who am I or who are you or who is anyone
To say he proffers prophesies consuming Remy Rum.

I think of John the Baptist in the desert all alone,
With only locusts left to eat, bare feet upon the stone,
Then tyrants in harsh leadership got wind of John's new game;
like tyrants of today they feared all change that brought them shame.

he mixes metaphor and simile
with syntax all his own;
reversed conversion to simplicity
In freaky monotone.

I like this ragged prophet, for he sounds so damn sincere,
And since I'm here and out of beer and feel a little fear,
I'll hear the prophet finish, then it's back to my own crib,
Though I will find no truth divine because I'm far too glib.

But John has got me a thinkin' 'bout some thinkin' done tonight
And all the thoughts are holdin' but their holdin' on too tight.
I realize I'm mesmerized and know I better split,
Whatever I am doin', what I'm doin' doesn't fit.

he mixes metaphor and simile
with syntax all his own;
reversed conversion to simplicity
in freaky monotone.

I reach into my pocket for a twenty and a light,
I slip it to the prophet, and I call this day a night.
But ragged John keeps starin' right into my red-rimmed eyes,
He says, in perfect syntax, not a word too left or right:

"I'll meet you in the desert when the sun begins to rise."






Recognized


The stanzas of this poem are written in iambic heptameter.
The refrains are written in a modified ballad form of iambic
pentameter in the first line and iambic trimester in the second line. So it is a 10/6 metering.

When I was living in San Francisco and attending University,
I used to party most every night in the city and there were
many street preachers practicing their art but this tall and
scraggly man was really quite entertaining and charismatic
to a fault. And it was him that inspired this poem in 1965.
Pays one point and 2 member cents.


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