Cole Gallup, artist, sculptor, poet - Meticulous Chaos, Madness in the Right Direction

          The Pauls Valley Poets are not an official organized body per say. They consist of poets, musicians, esoterics, bohemians, and winos.

          They tend to gather on or near the last Friday of the month to share work and projects with each other for constructive criticism, and the opportunity to be in good company.

          There are no dues to pay, no time to volunteer, just good people and good times. Newcomers are always welcome, just contact Cole for more information on when and where the next event will be held.

Selections
Steam by Debra K. Wall | A Song for Betsy by Dean Wall | Me by Brian Spencer | Epitaph by Cole Gallup

Steam

By Debra K. Wall

As they stand against the sky

The zero mile does draw nigh

Beacons flashing for those to see

We who travel the island seas

These twin towers I speak of now

Are stacks of refuse power

Useless who no one needs

Now has been converted to steam

Steam to supply the ship yard you see

The one that has been here since 1673

A Song for Betsy

By Dean Wall

On the hillside, I heft my clergy eyes skyward well past vesper light.

Nearly nude in the dim light breeze I see another task yet left undone.

As a military veteran it is an ultimate shame to disrespect the ensign

Still, there the fabric waves,

An amorphic candy cane, floating, undulating in slow motion against and assisted by another equally undulating broad field of rich blue peppered by white stars.

This dim yet profoundly beautiful moment causes me to wonder if the ancient edict about sunset lowering was proclaimed by one who missed an opportunity to behold something as beautiful as this.

By Brian Spencer

Why when I hear the voice

Do I run from its’ commands

Why when I see the light

Do I turn to find darkness

That blessed spirit call

The sound ever sweet

My desire to obey is out weighed

This imp, this demon, this devil

His contending I try to contest

Though the light beckons

I still find myself in darkness

If only I could kill this demon

Whose hand is so powerful

But in those all too brief moments

Standing within the light

I know why I flee

For in those moments my eyes are open

The demon is only me

Epitaph

By Cole Gallup

I lie in the cool comforting soil

With my breath still and quite

I finally get to rest

Forever free from my toil

I can feel the larvae tickle from within

While I become a part of the humus

I have the roots of the acacia consume me

And live and die in the plant kingdom again and again

I am carried by the winds

And adrift in the sea

I am purified by flame

With each adventure returning me, to my beginning and my end

I observe the four sessions as if they were nothing

And I am beyond love hate and greed

I am even beyond memory

For I am truly unending

Selections printed with permission of the authors.

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