This poem is dedicated to my most regular visitor, Peter Schreiner.
My poetry does not make any effort to rhyme, is not devoted to mathematical algorithms and contains no designed ciphers. Written rapidly, it reflects the expressive features of a moment. However, enwrapped is so much more. Conscientious readers have a lifetime to discover.
Regularly I visit my local Bowling Club to break the order of my life. Typing in the notepad of my iphone, I ponder whether to stay for a second beer or leave, as usual, after one.
Televisions high in all corners
Flickering quadrant sentinels
Beaming intolerable coherent jargon
Meaningless drivel; mass media spin
Monotonous tones stifling time
Rest bite from the gambler’s curse?
One more spinner is surely a winner?
Sentient ambivalence greets wizardry
Could faith conjure control?
The floor divides an invisible hive
A clique for each quadrant
Twelve circle tables, empty?
Pleasantly spaced; nicely scented
Ne’er all cliques present
Always one; sometimes more
Bar services coordinate disorder
Too much cheer for some?
Go home; lest you be told.