Win Thee A Duchy

CLERK tallies cargo, regrets it as prosaic.
WATER off the wharf glints and beckons, to a place
RARER than here, nobler by its mystery, place where a
DUCHY, not dinner, might be won by enterprise.

Idea Lacks Lustre

BOOTH in the market, attempt to re-begin,
DEUCE of a thing to lose a fortune, and retry a life,
ROAST marmot seemed an idea, but they’re not selling,
PROVE once again, please, that a new idea can emerge in time.

In Behemoth’s Shadow

TIGHT fit in sound as cruise ships pass
ISLET’s small plot, once content in smallness, now in behemoth’s shadow,
AGONY of lost proportion, no size makes sense,
BASTEd by artificial swells and diesel fumes.