Displaced Anthology

These self poems
are always shrouded with artistic fatalism:
a lack of clear presentation,
to rival an abstract picture
titled 'Upside down head'
that forever eludes understanding
though the inuendo makes some chosen few smile.
They smack more
of some half-remembered treastise on humanity
with words and ideas of a forgotten age
that maybe is romanticised and never really was
with a strange epochal lesson
about the threefold personality of one divine being
to which the relevance has slid sideways
into the obscure.
A displaced anthology over time
chronicling nothing important to humanity
but maybe one day
important to some one else.
Each one is a far cry from my
'Daily Dose' on the forum
and a far cry between each other
ill-fitting in representation
as if a lampshade was my cap and headgear
yet displaying some of my soul in each one.