The stream (all workshops)
I go now to repair a bridge.
It serves the road which runs the ridge.
Just a few boards need replacing
on the floor and in the bracing.
I'll do it while the branch is shallow,
now when the far side field is fallow.
My old truck will take me there.
I won't get stuck if I take care.
The land is rugged on this side,
on the other, flat and wide
where crops grow in deep dark soil
which makes this bridge worth all the toil.
the west side of the gatehouse crumbled
and fell,
(did anyone hear it?)
now eight or nine planks of board hold it in place
and the stately entrance
is closed and cordoned off,
I'm the new kid on the block and
while we were picking artifacts such as names
and dates,
toppled headstones and sunken graves
spoke to me asked me
who they were,
did I think these
progenitors of
wealth, these boat people of
Europe
live a good life?
On the tripod
A candle burns
In symbolic marriage
Of wax and wick
The flame is the baby
A spark of the essence
Known to the ancient
So the vestals tended
To preserve the light
Constance was the glow
The flame, a hidden trinity
The child’s earthly sojourn
Of consciousness in nuptials
Of soul and spirit body
Dancing in the wind
Liquefied wax smoulders
Rising amber with blue base
Wrapped around the wick
Revealing, life enfolding
In the flare of spirit being
you said you were coming back
after the day of odds at the track
and the slate green dodge
every time I hear the weather girl
when she says
"there's a promise of rain"
seventy per cent
a nice even count
I think about you
they say even a dog has its day
with this humidty it may rain cats
thirty per cent says it might not
might not rain
might just be a promiz
Watch the clowns as they all gambol
skipping, tripping, falling down
cartwheeling without preamble
it's the greatest show in town
The ringleader riding wild asses
elephant trainers strive for control
all seen by fools in rosy glasses
in the marble tent upon the knoll
Let's cheer at the circus show
we'll all stand to make more room
while the three rings down below
distract us from our country's doom
* response to the so called leaders in Congress
if you don't know the difference
between balmy and embalming then you're
probably not a poet
and you've joined the zombie parade
parroting words like definitions,
you're no pirate but you have a peg heart
and your hair is uncombed
your whiskers stiff with fish and eggs
i've loved you long enough, this i know
Styx
The clock strikes midnight, the witching hour
Not three a.m. my usual time of power
On the prowl, before Killer and H. Stranger
Too late the victim knows... she is in danger
Shouldn't stroll deserted grounds at night
My blade sings the tune of her plight
Flashing silver in the moonlight cast
Terror filled eyes, life speeding past
Too soon she dies, from the slice of her throat
No time for pride... or to gloat
Victim number one out of the way
Off in search of number two, to end my play
Killer
In a Haze Colorless Pale
The sun late afternoon
crossed the darkened room
in a haze colorless pale
dust danced in slow motion
in streams of light though the air
suffocating movements of silence
the sun began to fade
and I felt the lonliness weigh heavy
in the dim of twilight
the noise was gone
and silence spoke its mourning
as day fled into dark
like a shrouded veil
and I began to sink
into madness
the world takes on a brilliance
after a few days of hard rain
you are sleeping
I brew Sumatra coffee,
our window boxes are bright bouquets
of gratitude, hanging gardens
in their confinement
sometimes a poem doesn't need
an exegesis, nothing profound
to dwell on, nothing but a breath
of a full morning's glory.
The earth was once thought to be flat
My grandpa never wandered far away
Lest he tumbled at the edge and fall
So it was with rising and setting sun
After a daily heavenly crossing at noon
Men also thought the earth was fixed
And everything else revolved around it
They were wrong, we know better now
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