Amherst

Just below the dormer
transom
in a home both high and
handsome
listening to the chirps and
twitters
watching as the sunlight
glitters

chary in a chosen
cloister
sealing pearls in sleeping
oysters
while no entreaty can
entice
whose virtue is her only
vice

in honor all the letters
burned
scattered ashes soon
returned
and settled on familiar
scenes
of asters, lace and
mezzanines

(just because a thing
is true
does not make it kind
to you;
the past is all the future
brings
and we write songs Nobody
sings)

Girlfish

She is shimmering and swimming
and I am on the shore
and she knows what she’s after
and I don’t know what for

Got a hook and a pole
and some oranges I stole
and I’m hoping for a
Girlfish

Underneath the surface
way down deep and cool
I toss peels upon the water
and must look like a fool

Casting out the best I got
and slowly reel ‘em in
but I ain’t catching nothing
and she’s always where she’s been

Got a pole and a hook
and some wishes I took
and I’m waiting for a
Girlfish

Crows gather 'round
in a dead willow tree
and I hear ‘em laugh
I’m guessing at me

And the wide sky is open
and the waters are still
and my creel is empty
just like that old mill

I don’t have a pan
and I don’t have a knife
and if I could swim
I’d have her for my wife

Got a hook and a pole
and a hard dinner roll
I’m planning to share with a
Girlfish

She don’t take the bait
she don’t hear my call
she don’t care for me
I’m guessing at all

But if she’d come up
for a short little stay
I’d maybe look different
than from far away

This old pond is full
of large mouth and cats
and I’d fill up a stringer
if I wanted that

But I got the time
and I got the will
and as long as she’s swimming
I’ll be up here still

Got a pole and a hook
and a spot by the brook
and I ain’t leaving without a
Girlfish

P O W

sorry – this poem has been removed due to some delusional endeavor to get published. i’ll put it back once i come to my senses.

Futilitrinity

I.

This is the story I tell to myself

when the stars are falling down:

Once there was a little boy,

a goldfish and a clown.

The clown was never happy, the boy was never sad,

the fish swam round and round and round

in the bowl he had.

The clown found love and married, the boy became a man,

the fish swam round and round and round

and knew no better than.

II.

This is the song that I sing to myself

when I’m feeling adrift and alone:

I’m just air and water,

skin and blood and bone.

The future is a pencil box,

the past has all been written,

I sat beneath an apple tree

and found that I’d been bitten,

I’m just heat and oxygen,

a double-helix legion,

a soul that’s buried underneath

a heap of scars and lesions.

III.

This is the wish that I wish when I wish,

which isn’t very often:

I wish I could be strong enough

to let my stiff heart soften.

I wish I had the nickel back

I just threw in this fountain,

I wish for progress in my pain

and purpose in my passion.

****

If these things should all fall short

(and usually they do)

I watch the rain course down the pane

slapdash,

askance,

askew.