Author: David Wright

MOUND of gold in a cave seems so precious, yet
STUCK is what you feel when you obsess about it.
HOARD of thieves is what others become.
ANGRY is what you are at the thought of their showing up.

MANOR left behind, soon the forest thickly looms,
TORCH the only sign of human mastery–though
FAUNA sounds—rustling, howling, hooting—unsettle certainties;
AVAIL yourself of tools, yet the world is big and dark.

MAIZE, perhaps the stuff of which Aztecs built their labyrinths?
IDIOM, could it be the jargon of a fool?
BRAIN, the one who always seems to know Pinky’s agenda?
EXERT, I did not on this one.

CLINKing tumblered picnic basket,
BEACH beckoning, day spreading out,
BEVEL of sand down to water’s edge
ELFIN summer moment: creation rests.

SWORD in my forehead–it
REFERs me to Romans and creation’s groans, the
GUILD of sinus sufferers and I joining in. In the new heavens,
NASAL passages will not block.

TAMER days for the boar are for a slow forest meander,
SNOUTing for truffle, trotting into glades.
BLAND is good, the scent of pine and quiet in the round.
SLEEP in thickets, and only occasionally dream of the dogs.

DRYLY, an ent ponders mathematical shapes.
CURVY? Too much so. No forkings or branchings. No rough bark.
MOSSY? Not at all. Functions grow no moss.
TORUS: too smooth, too regular. Ents need rough edges and sunlight.

PAINT, a kind of bronze that goes on looking old.
ALLOY to that this image: self-moving plow, tanks, gauges, steam.
FORTY acres and a steam plow!
FIBER for a story seems thin, but the image lingers..

VOWEL, bought in a game show, connective, melodic
BLUNT, forthright or dull, which is it?
STOKE, fire building, coal shoveling, furnace filling,
SHADY: relief in summer or actions in hiding.