Monday, December 30, 2013

2013: A Morality Play

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.

Sunday, December 22, 2013


Picture from Psychadelic Adventures


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.

Friday, December 13, 2013

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.
and Red 
Flower, Fleur,  Poppy.
We'll spray their days
Let's write their lives
as childhood
ought to be.