By James Marchiori
Here it is,
out from the eternal womb,
marching proud the newborn.
Hard to see,
in its smallest nest.
The shelter of creation,
the mother as a muse for
the invention.
Marching proud the newborn,
out from the eternal womb.
As it is,
free from jokes
hearing the voices of the creators,
as perpetrators of the
immaterial matter
of the mother muse.
James Marchiori is a Dublin based poet and writer. He wrote his first verses at nine years old and his last novel, ‘To My Beloved Heart’, a tribute to Edgar Allan Poe, was amongst the nominees for the Saturday Visiter Awards in Baltimore, USA. He’s currently working on a crime novel set in Dublin, Ireland, with fragments of gothic, occult and supernatural elements. Bohemia incarnate, a free soul devoted to Surrealism and Poetry. An independent and critical observer.
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