Category: ohthatwright

Act!

ERASE grievance, ponder action, venture out in hope,
BORNE must be outrageous fortune, dismissed the if-only sham,
SLINGs and arrows weathered, assert your agency’s small dram.
BROODing: what will it gain or change? Act within your scope!

Two Communions

OFFERtory intones, one measure in the long composition,
HORDE–throng–communion of saints sing, in ever deepening harmony.
STEIN raised at end of day, even larger company joined in a rite, toasting day’s end.
SHEAR forces will fate their intersection. Yet, may the bonds hold in this time of grace.

Cowboys in the Warehouse

WINCH, plaything for boisterous cowboys in the warehouse.
HAVOC unfolds: add pallet, cables, voila! ad hoc flying contraption.
AMUSEment ends when Tom falls 15 feet to floor, lies motionless.
DEPOT falls silent. Pangs of sick longing to reel back time. Then his eyes open, he stands up.

Ninth Circle

THICK ice holds grisly three-faced Lucifer at
NINTH circle’s center: ice never thaws under freezing wind of those
AVIAN mocking, seraphim mocking bat wings beating.
EXCEL this hellishness? What poet can prevail over Dante Alighieri?

Muster Grace

VERGE of chaos, strife always straining to cliff’s edge,
SHORT fuses and fears ascendant reach for grim logic,
TRIPE abundant, speech measured by edge’s sharpness.
STOIC hearts must beat slowly and muster grace.

Gate to the Future

GROUTs peered at in cup’s bottom reveal what future?
SPURT of fateful activity, but where, who, to whom?
TOWEL from Hitchhiker’s I might as well wrap round my eyes.
A GATE to the future is every moment, and all I know is stepping through it.

The Path to Former Glory

ERODE in pursuit of former glory that glory’s every institution:
STATE’s purpose to smoothe out faction by orderly succession.
WACKY quacks in bombast push to fore for faster diminution.
TASTY! cheered satirists then, who now groan from such oppression.

If The Kraken Still Had Eyes

NEWLY found specimen, giant squid, eyes the size of dinner-plates.
PUPILs, slits in light, plates in the deep, always seem to watch you,
UTTER fascination, thrill for the museum-goers. What if it were alive?
BRINE? If I were in there with it? It would see me . . . it’d be the last thing I ever see.

What Trees Might Recount

SUGAR sap pressure ebbing, yet bare arms stay held aloft in winter’s cold.
KNEED with branch knots, gnarled giant stands firm in time.
ELDER, awaiting springs, you watched our generations as they
AROSE, then fell. If you could spread our tales like a rustling canopy!