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
Adrift
BANAL hours, weary days, self rarely sending
FORTH tendrils of curiosity or joy or longing. The turn to
BOOZE, with moments that briefly lighten, but
UNSET the anchor, soul ship drifting into banal hours, weary days.
Dodging
EASEL: this one is about painting, the glorious
STAIN of colors slowly spreading as the work proceeds. Now we
DODGE something, a jarring word,
THONG—we weren’t planning to discuss underwear.
Turnaround
I’ve led a life that’s black and white BANAL –
so cheesy – women, drugs and BOOZE;
but now I choose to change henceFORTH:
I’m off into a joyous Cinerama sUNSET.
Safari dreaming
SHOWY beasts beheld on the steppe, striped and bounding, then a
LAGER under the stars, dreaming a time of tribal
CHANT, of hunting to subsist, of nature’s bounty, its
FAUNA seeming the sum of all curses and blessings.
I was born in the wrong century
How wrong of her to throw her THONG
At my plein air painting on the EASEL,
producing an inartistic, mundane STAIN – still
DODGE the thong henceforth I fain.
The Great Outdoors
WORSE for wear after long trek through woodlands
FAUNA haunted, so rarely slept for long, now finally enough water,
SPOUT of fountain signalling society’s every benefit.
FREAK-thoughts they seem, to brave the wilds, when offered clean water instead.
Preeminence of Soup
ONION, potatoes, broth, and barley,
SHONE to hungry minds at day’s end, beckoning from a hut on a
KNOLL. Thus, a meal might
PARRY strife, soup binding what dissolves our ties.