Author: Steven Robertson

ARTSY craftsman
UNDID his smock,
LEANT against the doorframe:
“AMEN! Done!” with a sigh of relief.

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SHAKY voice pierces the low bustling hum like a
BELL, Eagerly calling for the crowd’s attention.
PSALM texts written centuries ago still hold center
STAGE for addressing modern hearts.

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AROMA of hay and manure
SERVEs to stir the competitive spirit;
FILLY eager to be released, always
CLOSE to jumping the gate.

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ABOVE the conniving, the masses
THROB with envious sedition,
COYLY wink at each other; the King’s laughter
ENSUEs.

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EBONY chest, dusty from decades in the
ATTIC, rests patiently with its treasures within:
CONCH from the tropics, teeth and claws from the jungle,
STAFF from the icy mountains climbed long ago.

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CIGAR hanging at an odd
ANGLE, the aging performer grabs his
STILTs, sighing, hoping for one last
CAPER in the big tent.

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BELLE of the sea wears her
ALGAE-green gown and white bonnets:
DROWNed in adventure, pirate
HEIST in her lifeblood.

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VERSEd and trained to
SNEAK past notice, clandestine
BADGE and medal avoidance;
OTHERs may have the limelight

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BILLY club to the gut of sophistication leaves an
ULCER whose acid eats away at arrogance and
MINCEs the bloated self-delusion of pride:
RACE Run only to stumble paces from the finish.

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CHAFF promised, tumbleweed
SWORE: both esteemed to be
LOWLY, but neither willing to commit to
PAPER and ink.

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