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Toy Chest (Poem)
a world full of inexplicable things
inexplicable to me, that is
with each new day I am as a child
reaching into a box of wonders
entering a library of marvels
listening to a chorus of virtuosi
even when streets fill with rushing rain
even when sirens wail in ominous lament
even when walls tumble from searing heat
despair is companioned,
holding fast hands with curiosity
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He Thinks Me Ignorant Of Death (Poem)
death. death. more death.
violent murderous wartime death.
pestilential starving cruel death.
death in streaming technicolor.
death in social media posts.
death in every possible way.
a friend who lives in another country
sends me a constant barrage:
this country, that country, another country
is perpetuating horrible death.
why does he think I don’t know this?
I spend my time now
writing graffiti on gravestones
throwing flowers on funeral pyres
and detailing the beauty of vultures that fill our skies.
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Reflections On The Repair Of An Engine (Poem)
this early morning.
air should smell of rain, wet leaves, mud.
train fuel reek fugs the fields.
birdsong and squirrel chatter should accompany our walk.
metal engines clangor away any animal noise.
nature inevitably prevails,
however industry (and we) might choose.
look up, the sky is ever there;
walk, the earth always beneath;
every manufactured thing; fundamentally part of the world.
in the pause between piston beats,
I hear the cry of three Canadian geese flying their regular overhead route.
