Bauble

A poem given, a gift

To cherish but not 

To gawk over, 

You stumblebum.

The Way of All Things

If these clouds would just keep still 

Long enough, we could go on 

Trying to capture them. 

Sea of Sorrow

Grief never goes 

So deep as 

When it strikes 

Rock bottom. 

Dirty Old Politician

A fish stinks from the head down. 

—Greek proverb 

That’s what they say about us but 

All I know Christ is it ever cold today 

And duty is duty so I’m sitting here 

In the dining room marking off 

The demands of my constituents and the maid 

She’s shivering, bent over the kitchen sink, 

Wearing a tight-fitting outfit 

That I bet makes even 

The blood of the fish 

She’s gutting steaming hot— 

Makes me feel like warming my hands up a bit— 

So I get up close behind her, blow hot 

On that cool nape, massage her shoulders 

And rub up and down her backside 

All for the good of the Motherland but 

Enough’s enough my friends I kid you not 

It’s time we get this fishy business over with 

So she can get down to giving me all 
The no-nonsense loving I lack. 

Shooting the Zephyr

Village folk round here have a saying 

As old as Hephaestus:  

When the tongues 

Of fire in the hearth 

Hiss as if blown 

By some invisible bellows, 

Someone’s talking about you— 

If you ask me, that’s reason enough 

We should all watch 

Our tongues too.