Photographer with a Pen, Poet with a Lens. (Profile Woodcut with much gratitude and courtesy of Loren Kantor Woodcuts) All Photographs Taken By the Author.
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Above Photograph Taken By The Author — K. Stofer Smith — Copyright 2025
With this pen I thee bled Sacrifice myself instead To written lines in undertones Alas a paraphrased bag of bones With the word I thee bring Forward thoughts of everything Rummaged through decades now Past did, blasted sacred cow With some ink I thee swear To compact history, under where Some endless repetition seeps Into journals, alas for keeps With this line I thee state The oblivious, obvious eternal fate Turning empty pages dark Scriptures left without a mark Without a path I see me dead Without the wrath inside my head I lay waiting, in my wrote-iron-bed With this pen I thee bled
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K. Stofer Smith Rag Content — Libro Dos (Copyright) Page 70 — Summer 1998
Photographer with a Pen, Poet with a Lens. (Profile Woodcut with much gratitude and courtesy of Loren Kantor Woodcuts) All Photographs Taken By the Author.
