No Refuge, Nor a Friend

CROOK rifled chest to steal every last doubloon
THREW my parchment and my quills in the lagoon
SUAVE he posed with charm yet executed only harm
BEGIN he now and reckon to the end, he’ll find no refuge nor a friend.

Secret smoker

ASHEN burns on ancient brown ash-
TRAYS. Nicotine stains on fingers.
BUGLE warning, hide the stash! Something’s
AMISS! It’s that smoky reek than lingers!

[Turns out that TRAYS should have been TRAIT – my mind playing with homonyms while I wasn’t looking.]

[‘Smoky reek that lingers’ – courtesy of Rupert Brooke]