In the woods at Klövensteen

The verdant hold of summer’s end
sits just around the golden bend
decked in chaotic livery
design dependent on the trees
that roof this nature’s avenue
sheltering this wood’s retinue
from that which each year must descend
as winter roars at autumn’s end


Folk Song

I walked through heathers wild
their heads washed fresh with dew
and in their perfumed boudoir
I wrote this song for you
I sang it as the sun gave way
to fogs upon the glen
and even o’er the mists of time
I’ll sing it now and then
whenever heathers breathe the air
and sigh their light bouquet
lost within these simple words
I’ll come back to this day.

Stranded (An Incomplete Poem Idea)

I sailed upon a clipper ship
which once had braved the seas
but sank around the doldrums
and all were lost save me
I built a raft from contraband
we’d smuggled from Nassau
and washed up on the golden sands
of a lost uncharted shore
and on that isle of stranded dreams
where I spent my life alone
I wrote this ode upon the beach
in driftwood and in stone

The Ballad of the Runyan Cats

crap game cats and strip joint rats
in zoot suits made of fur
they danced to swing and other things
the band played at the fair
then in the end went round the bend
to a speakeasy of renown
but a g-man’s raid, finally put paid
to their fun and shut them down
so now the cats, and their pals the rats
no longer dance and do their thing
they’re all upstate, making license plates
in a place they call Sing Sing.