Good Old Salt Of The Earth

The newcomers 

To the game 

 

Ready or not, they’ll come 

Seek us out come hell 

 

Or whatever’s left 

Of high water the moment 

 

We’ve run out of places 

To hide and stranded 

 

In the salt pans and long past 

Healing, the waves begin 

 

To lick old wounds again. 

 

 

 

 

Mad Air Of Minimalism

the 

small 

 

birds 

twittering 

 

there- 

in 

 

the 

heart 

 

of 

the 

 

flowering 

pomegranate, 

 

their 

twiggy 

 

throats 

pulsing 

 

the 

all- 

 

encompassing 

fruity 

 

morning 

air.

 

 

 

 

 

God Only Knows How You Can

Toil in silence fashioning 

Taut well-oiled verse and stay 

Forever a cipher—but hot damn, 

 

Strut on stage, do a cool loose- 

Jointed shimmy holding fans in

Awe and slam-bam if you ain’t 

 

Straightaway the hottest act in town!

 

 

 

 

Heavyweight Greeting Card

you 

open

 

it 

and 

out 

 

of 

the 

blue— 

 

voila! 

 

a 

deep 

violet 

blue 

 

dragon- 

fly 

un- 

folds 

 

its 

paper 

thin 

 

wings 

and 

light 

 

as 

a 

feather 

 

weight 

lifts 

you 

 

up 

and 

away 

 

light 

as 

an 

ephemeral 

 

fly. 

 

 

 

Whitewashed Janus

The worst 

You can do is still

 

Better than what 

You’ve done 

 

So far—but try 

Till you’re blue 

 

In the face, 

For the likes 

 

Of me, 

You'll never be

 

Able to

Tell the difference.