short poems

Stanza Without Verse

these weathered stones once were men
as was too this sodden ground
their voices will not speak again
nor will their heartbeats make a sound
to stir the quiet of this earth
that rests upon what death has left
no gloried resurrected birth
will spring forth from this winter’s breath.

Limericks of the Deep

there once was a snap happy clam
who flapped and he clapped as he swam
from starfish to squid
it’s just what he did
all the way to the Sea of Japan

In a hole in the deepest sea bed
sat an octopus baking some bread
but his loaf wouldn’t set
the dough was too wet
so he cooked up some biscuits instead

I knew an unsociable whale
who would snub all his pals without fail
whether dolphin or orca
he just wasn’t a talker
so from all the school trips he would bail

Sunday’s Dawn

three tanka for Jacques

Sunday is weeping
through windows in Amsterdam
a sunrise like sin
red as the ladies of the night
behind freshly drawn shutters.

Sunday cries this morn’
for the souls of pious men
worn as battle dress,
as they kneel before altars
to denounce those not like them.

Sunday is singing
a ballad melancholic
in drunken phrases
that make no sense, save to him
behind the whiskey bottle.