CAMEL sneers: 250 mile desert trek, hauling
FLOUR for baking to Eilat, when a boat would do. Might as well haul
THORNs! Smith’s hand is plenty visible when it blunders.
WATER—now there’s a commodity worth the fuss.
Month: February 2024
Plural Wars
VENOM, delivered by fangs, raises question of fangs in the heart.
STRAP myself to mast, stop ears, close eyes, and I may avert the
SIRENs. Yet, assault withstood, heart may still pump a fatal toxin.
ENACT and win the war with external foe–there remains the war of self.
In Arrears
CARGO ships pass, out there beyond the point.
HOVEL on beach’s rocky edge can count them, time the
SWASH rolling in. All the world’s trade couldn’t cover the rent
CHECK, yet money floats by, so close, so out of reach.
The Smoke Filled Room
FLOOR given a last mopping: shiny, clear, before the
SMOKE pools, when the wheeler-dealers gather and make this the
TERRA of adults, who are confident—unlike the children,
CHIDEd away last minute—that they own the room, the night, the smoke.
Time and tide
The
SWASH tends to push the shingle up the beach – I
CHECK each day how far it’s come, seated in my
HOVEL, using a rule of thumb, not counting each of the sea’s
CARGO of pebbles, though each is individual.
Photo: Penny Mayes