rivers whisper
in silver tongues
secrets to the sea
which only those
who drink it’s waters
may understand,
so reticent to share
their confidences
of what they’ve seen
upstream
that they speak
only in alluvium phrases
and with each new mystery
they do impart
the last is lost
forever
poem
The Centipede
I watched the little centipede
scurry ‘cross the floor
a step or two for me, but him?
a good ten miles or more
I gazed on in silent wonderment
as he strolled his rippled paces
and thought on how long it takes
to tie all his shoelaces?
Genetic Memory
at the edge of darkness
when feline eyes grow wide
and cold strokes back my skin
I remember somehow
without knowing for sure
I was naked
and full of fear
the world was yet to begin
Lines on Santa Monica Pier (unfinished)
last sunlight gently kissed each tide
their lips danced soft together
each pondered on the other side
of the ocean of forever
upon the pier a love song played
seagulls serenading flight
and then the dusk its debt repayed
passed duty to the night.
Difficult Truths
Behind each palace
my less than reliable
memories build
are the dustbin
laden alleyways
where difficult truths
overspill
and are left
forgotten
until
the sun shines down
on humid days
of despair
and the stench
of that
sought to conceal
becomes more than
I can bear
A Cheesy Morsel
The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese…G. K. Chesterton
Some Danish Blue would do a treat
perhaps a little Brie to eat
but if Linburger’s the one you chose
best stick a clothes-peg on your nose.
envoi
best stick to Cheddar cheese I think
if you don’t want your breath to stink.
Klaus The Mouse verse two
and when the day’s start drawing in
I go back there and visit him
bringing him a flask of gin
and then the boozing starts
he mixes it with ginger ale
and it never ever seems to fail
to stiffen up his floppy tail
and warm his little heart
Klaus The Mouse verse one
In the woods behind my house
lives a giant chocolate mouse
whose name I hear is little Klaus
because he’s very small
Up above the underbrush
where the leaves all turned to mush
he likes it there it feels so lush
until the first snows fall
Driftwood
driftwood
tossed and broken
unable to hold fast
upon the shore
destined
to have in reach
the beach
yet drifting evermore
A Man For All Seasons (a one minute rhyme)
he writes the words
of youthful spring
on shorter days
that autumn brings
and still his pen
leaks naive rhymes
despite the end
of summertime
and even come
the winter’s chill
his innocence
in ink shall spill
