You yourself poet
have belled the cat
very few,
including me,
understand the riddles
behind camouflaged poesy
so beautiful
and
a pussy,
I still see from the rear balcony,
as dogs with open lashing tongues
erase moments of ecstasy
awaiting their turn,
to take on
while others are at it
this was my impression
but you beat me.

A poet is one ,
who says what?
and
so many ask why?

The woodbine decorates its host in yellow
but gay blossoms cover its true intent
as it attempts to choke the little tree
or at the least leave it twisted and bent

Young tree accomodates its tormenter
by bulging bark between the ropy vine
which tightens as the growing tree gains girth
it's mere luck this tree's not a soft barked pine

This alder I spotted beside a road
on verge of death as its starved leaves browned
I cut and freed it from its stranging foe
a helical staff I now tote around

THE DEVIL MAN

She gave her soul
to the old Devil man.
She was only twenty
And when she called
him honey
He gave her plenty.

She gave out
He gave in
It’s all about money
The world turns that way
Now ain’t it so’
Honey ?

trinket of sugar
bleeds frozen
platelets
falling through the black

through the eye looking
back

a smoke image may
recede climbing
through the body of
doubts
this drawn leg restless
this weak ankle bested
an hour is a scream
you sigh
dripping whispers
while dust breaks
patterns in gust loved
parking echo lots