2013: A Morality Play

2013:

A Morality Play

If practice really does 

A perfect mastery make,

My wagon full of props

And I, mere mortal, win

Praises from the town.

Pride here on the straw

Sweeps his hat to take a bow.

Envy seethes deep inside the chest.

Even this is practice for the end:

Wipe the grease from my chin,

Mount the boards, proclaim aloud, 

Loud enough to wake

Sloth sleeping at the reins. 

Shout, "Final! Doom!"

Drive this one, clink and rattle

To the tomb.

Undone.

Picture from Psychadelic Adventures

Undone

Do not clip my wings,

for if I try, and flutter

like a light-singed moth,

I die.

Do not steal my spark,

for if I try, and stumble

in a darkened cave, 

I die.

Do not take my song,

for if I try, and have no voice

to raise to Heaven,

I die and I,

I am a tapping on the sill,

a shadow on the wall,

an echo in the mind,

a curiosity, a loss,

a blank-paged book,

unstoried and unsung,

hero-less, unlit, 

fluttered, fallen, blind.

Undone. Undone. 

I die. I am undone.

Write Their Days Enchanted

 

My daughter says

the children always

bear my scent

when they return,

a sort of story

on their skin.

And so I walk the aisles

spraying paper strips

too small to hold a verse

but heady.

Beautiful

Happy

Sensuous

Love

Blue

and Red 

Flower, Fleur,  Poppy.

Ah! 

Enchanted. 

We'll spray their days

Enchanted,

Let's write their lives

Enchanted,

as childhood

ought to be.